The Curse (Belador #3)(105)
That was so … Roswell.
She took every mission seriously, but seeing two particular men on this mission ramped up the significance: Tzader Burke, who was Maistir over all the North American Beladors, and, Vladimir Quinn, who oversaw the Belador investments.
They were two of the most dangerous men she’d ever met, and her closest friends. Much as she’d like to joke about looking for little green men, she was mentally prepared for something preternatural and deadly.
That actually raised her comfort level.
Also wearing black jeans, plus a matching long-sleeved Under-Armour shirt over a ripped body that was such a deep brown he was nearly invisible in the dark, Tzader paused in talking to the other three as Evalle walked up.
She was only a few minutes late and the traffic jam hadn’t been her fault, but she felt it necessary to explain. “I would have been here sooner, but—”
Reece “Casper” Jordan piped up. “We know, sunshine. You’re a fragile Alterant, too delicate to travel before sunset.”
Of the agents here tonight, Casper was the only non-Belador. The mouthy Texan had shared his body with the spirit of a thirteenth-century highland warrior ever since he’d been struck by lightning while in Scotland ten years ago. She’d heard stories about how he’d changed into a highland warrior during battle a few times, and at times the shift was accompanied by electrical or lightning flashes. Sweet.
“Got your delicate in my boot, cowboy.” Evalle sent Casper a wry smile since he meant no malice. Yes, she was relegated to working only at night if she didn’t want to wear heavy protective gear due to her deadly reaction to the sun, the same reason her eyes were so sensitive to light. But as an Alterant—part Belador and part unknown—she had a few extra tricks even the other Beladors didn’t possess, such as natural night vision. She could see everyone here just fine in the tarpit darkness.
In fact, the barely-there moonlight seemed bright to her.
Having traded his signature Stetson for combat headgear, Casper had a night-vision monocular that gave him a cyborg-ish look. He wore a tactical moly vest with shell holders and had a wicked-nice customized double-barrel Stoeger shotgun hanging from a shoulder sling.
The three Beladors present—Tzader, Quinn and Trey McCree—didn’t need monoculars. They’d utilize her exceptional vision once they all linked powers, turning them into a dangerous fighting unit. Of course, that ability came with a downside.
If one of them was killed while linked, they all died.
“Everyone just got here right before you, Evalle,” Tzader said, then moved straight into the mission. “Listen up, team. We don’t know what exactly we’ll encounter tonight, but our people in local law enforcement will keep humans away while we stake out the kill zone.”
“Are they sure these cow attacks aren’t some creepy high school or college prank?” Evalle asked. She couldn’t be the only one thinking that.
Tzader nodded at Quinn who took over, speaking in his cultured British accent. “I’ve reviewed everything law enforcement has on the investigation and met with the farmer whose livestock was mutilated. He has an electric fence with a sophisticated security monitoring system around the pasture where the cows were killed.”
“Damn, son,” Casper crowed. “What kind of cows that boy got?”
Quinn merely quirked an eyebrow at Casper’s use of “son.” He was normally dressed in a custom suit—one that would cost more than Casper’s new Dodge Ram truck parked nearby—for a corporate business meeting, or in one of his many tuxedos, to attend the social event of the season.
But underestimating Quinn as nothing more than a party boy would be akin to keeping a pet pit viper.
One mistake and you’re dead.
Tonight he’d donned a dark turtleneck and sleek pants, both probably made of some hi-tech material being tested for military use.
Quinn continued, “These are quite valuable animals. They are a genetically superior line of cattle the owner has spent a small fortune raising as breeding stock for new herds. He’s lost two cows in the last thirty hours, and now he’s moved his herd indoors until someone figures out what is killing them. Our Belador contacts in law enforcement and animal control talked him into allowing them to substitute another group of cows as bait for tonight.”
Casper scrunched up one side of his face with a frown. “Usually takes more than losing a few head of cattle to get any serious agency attention.”
“True,” Quinn acknowledged. “This became high profile—and drew VIPER’s attention—because of the way the cows were killed and the evidence left around the attacks.”
Evalle sorted through what they knew so far and played devil’s advocate. “So what if this thing we’re hunting can tell the difference between that farmer’s prize stock and a plain old cow? What’s going to make this bait work?”
Tzader answered, “We’re hoping whatever is killing the cows will come back again out of habit, and it attacked only pregnant cows. We have a lot of those in this herd. Our plan is to catch this thing before it figures out the switch.”
She understood cows were grown for food, but anything that harmed an expectant mother was evil and needed to die in misery. “I say the minute something with teeth shows up, we kill it.”
“There’s the woman I want covering my six.” Casper chuckled.