Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(15)

An odd choice for a tattoo.

“You think I wouldn’t give them every penny I could get my hands on to have Molly returned to me?” he rasped, offering a hint of the volcanic emotions that smoldered just below the surface.

Serra hesitated. So the kidnappers weren’t demanding money? Unusual.

“Then what do they want?”

“It won’t matter once you’ve found my daughter.”

Serra shook her head. “No.”

The muscles of his jaw knotted, his expression closing down as he studied her with a ruthless resolve.

“That wasn’t a request.”

She tilted her chin, refusing to be bullied. Better men than Bas Cavrilo had tried. And failed.

“Dammit, I’m not taking the responsibility for a young girl’s life,” she snarled. “Get someone else.”

He leaned forward, holding her captive with the mesmerizing bronze of his eyes. “No one else has your talent for tracing.”

Tracing was a rare gift that only a handful of psychics possessed, and even fewer could use with Serra’s skill.

Some psychics could hold an object and catch a vague impression of who owned it and where it was from. Others could actually get a mental image of the owner. Serra, however, could touch an object and connect with the mind of the owner.

It was why the police had called her in when a child went missing.

“It’s not magic,” she told Bas, giving him the same speech she gave to everyone who came to her wanting miracles. “I don’t touch an object and instantly connect with the person. Especially not if that person is a norm.”

Expecting another death glare and warning that she had no option, Serra was startled when he gave a slow nod.

“I’ve been told it’s a matter of proximity. Is that correct?”

She frowned. Told by whom?

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“It depends on the person connected to the object.” She gave a lift of her shoulder. “The greater their telepathic powers the easier it is for me to touch their mind.”

“Give me a rough estimate.”

Bossy bastard.

“For a norm I would need to be within a few hundred feet.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Not that it matters. I’ve told you, I’m not doing this.”

He abruptly turned to pace toward the glass wall, his brow furrowed. “So close,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Released from the potent power of his gaze, Serra sucked in a deep breath. “Did you hear me?”

Abruptly he turned back, his impatience humming in the air. “We need a reason for you to be in St. Louis.”

“You want a reason? I’ll give you a perfect one,” Serra assured him. “I’m here to haul your criminal ass back to Valhalla. The Mave has made it very clear she won’t tolerate high-bloods pimping out their powers.”

She didn’t know why she was provoking him. Well, beyond the fact she was mad as hell that he’d kidnapped her and then tried to make her feel guilty for not rushing to rescue his daughter, despite the fact she quite likely would do more harm than good.

But her taunting words didn’t piss him off as she’d hoped. Instead, a slow smile touched his lips.

“You’re right,” he breathed. “That’s perfect. It might even buy me more time.”

She threw her hands up in defeat. “Are you off your meds?”

“No, it is perfect,” he assured her, the edge in his voice making her wonder which of them he was trying to convince. “Just think, if the Mave had heard rumors of high-bloods living outside her strangling reign of tyranny—”

“Strangling reign of tyranny?” she mocked.

“It’s all a matter of perspective.” He shrugged. “Then she most certainly would send someone to investigate. And who better than a psychic? I can claim that I need to lie low while you’re in town. That should give you time to locate Molly.”

“Okay, I’m done,” she muttered.

She didn’t know what the hell the man was babbling about, and she was quite certain she didn’t want to. Not when it obviously concerned her. But even as she started to turn back toward the door and try to force it open, there was a discreet beep and Bas was turning toward one of the monitors mounted on the wall.

“Shit,” he muttered.

She moved to stand at his side, instantly alarmed.

Did this have something to do with his daughter? The thought made her stomach queasy.

She refused to take responsibility for finding the little girl, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t horrified by the thought Molly might be hurt.

“What?”

“Sentinel.”

Her fear converted to disbelief as her gaze focused on the tattooed warrior who was standing in the center of the outer lobby, his arms folded over his chest as he calmly studied Kaede who was blocking the door to the inner office.

A nuclear bomb waiting to explode.

“Fane,” she breathed.

Fane had been taken into the monastery when he was ten years old. Before then he’d survived on the streets of Budapest, working as a pickpocket and thief until a monk had scooped him from the gutters.

Those days had taught him to ignore the obvious. It was never the knife you could see that cut you. And the largest man in the room was rarely the most dangerous.