Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(20)

There was a sharp silence, as the kidnapper studied his every expression. Then, obviously hearing the truth in Bas’s voice, he made a sound of impatience.

“Then get rid of the psychic.”

Bas held up a calming hand. “I intend to, but it will have to be discreet.”

“People disappear all the time.”

“Not when they have a guardian Sentinel as a bodyguard,” he pointed out in dry tones. “Give me a few days. I’ll find out if she’s here because the Mave has sensed our secret or if her visit is just bad timing.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. The next few minutes would determine whether he was forced to choose between his daughter or the annihilation of thousands, perhaps millions of norms. “And until then we have to stop the transportation.”

The weight of the man’s gaze could be felt through the computer. Was the stranger a high-blood?

“If this is a trick—”

“No trick, but neither of us will get what we want if the Mave discovers our bargain,” he soothed.

There was a long pause before the kidnapper muttered a harsh curse. “You have four days. After that . . . Molly dies.”

Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Bas reveal his brutal relief. Christ. His gamble had worked.

He’d earned Molly a few days.

He would rip apart this city to find her.

Fane paced the lobby.

It’s what a normal man did who was under enormous stress.

Only Fane wasn’t a normal man. He was a trained Sentinel.

Which meant he didn’t fidget. He didn’t twitch. And he most certainly didn’t pace.

Like any predator he understood the necessity of conserving his strength until it was time to strike.

Besides, pacing revealed a disordered mind.

Something that could get a guardian killed.

But for the first time in a very, very long time, Fane was battling emotions that refused to be leashed.

Serra was in desperate danger. Even now there was a toxin flowing through her blood.

And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to avert her death if the assassin didn’t remove his spell.

He wanted to smash everything in the small lobby. He didn’t doubt for a minute he could twist the fancy metal and leather furniture into a mound of pretzels. Or that he could hurl the desk through the window.

Then he wanted to wrap his hands around Bas’s throat and squeeze until the life faded from his eyes.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get to do either.

And worse, Serra had made it clear she wasn’t willing to accept the comfort he so desperately wanted to offer.

Not that he blamed her. He’d been the one to slam the door between them. Now he could hardly complain when she wasn’t rushing into his arms.

It all combined to make him feel as if he was going to explode.

A faint click was the only warning the lock on the inner door had been released, but it was enough to urge Fane to come to a halt next to Serra, his body prepared to attack.

The door opened to reveal the assassin, his eyes narrowing as he sensed Fane was on a hair trigger.

“Have you contacted Valhalla?” Bas demanded.

Fane’s jaw clenched. He’d reported to Wolfe that Serra was safe and that they would return to Valhalla in a few days. The leader of the Sentinels had agreed to call off the cavalry, but Fane knew that they would be lurking just out of sight. One signal from Fane and they would come charging to the rescue.

Until then, they would remain ghosts.

“Yes.”

Bas’s lips twisted. “A man of few words.”

“You have no idea,” Serra muttered, giving a toss of her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

Fane scowled, his gaze resting on the pallor of her skin and the bruises beneath her eyes. “You’re tired,” he said, not bothering to hide his anxiety. “You need to eat and rest before you collapse.”

Her lips parted, her eyes sparking with anger. But before she could tell him what he could do with his concern, Bas was glancing toward the window where the city was beginning to stir with the promise of a new day.

“I agree.” He reached beneath his jacket. “I’ve had rooms reserved for you at my hotel.”

Serra made a sound of disgust. “Your hotel? Murder must pay well.”

Bas smiled. “It depends on the contract.” He pulled his hand from beneath his jacket, holding out a business card. Fane smoothly moved to take the card, not trusting himself not to snap if the man was stupid enough to touch Serra. “The address is on the card. I’ll contact you later.”

Fane lightly grasped Serra’s arm, steering her toward the outer door. The fact that she didn’t instantly pull away told him just how tired she truly was. But as he slammed his hand against the panel to open the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder.

“How long do I have?”

The assassin glanced at a gold Rolex strapped to his wrist. “You have a little over ninety-six hours.”

Fane felt Serra sway in horror and his grip instinctively tightened as he tugged her closer. He studied Bas with an expression of cold purpose.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The man tilted his chin, his eyes shimmering bronze in the muted lights. “Not until Molly has been returned home,” he pointed out, his voice expressionless. “Nothing else matters.”