Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(21)

The elevator door slid open and, urging Serra inside, Fane shifted so he blocked her from the view of the assassin.

“Wait.” Bas was abruptly moving forward, ignoring Fane’s warning growl as he reached to shove something in Serra’s hand. “Here.”

Serra hissed in protest, grudgingly glancing down at the crumpled photo of a little girl clutched between her fingers.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Bas stepped back, his face hard. “Hate me all you want, but Molly is innocent. She needs you.”

The door closed and they were headed downward at a stomach-dropping speed. Fane closed his eyes, forcing his breath in and out at a measured pace. It was the only thing that prevented him from returning to the penthouse and beating the assassin to a bloody pulp.

Instead, he contented himself with the promise the day of retribution would come as his arm circled Serra’s shoulders.

He was patient.

He would bide his time and then take full, glorious pleasure in destroying the son of a bitch.

The elevator came to a halt and they stepped into the dark underground parking lot. Fane led Serra to her vehicle, disturbed as she passively allowed him to help her into the passenger seat. She didn’t even squawk when he climbed behind the steering wheel and fired the engine.

Shock.

He grimaced as he punched the address of the hotel into the GPS and shoved the vehicle into gear.

She’d been forced from her home, held captive by a man trained to kill, and informed she had ninety-six hours to save the life of a child or die.

It was nothing less than a miracle that she was still functioning.

Crushing the instinct to reach over and touch her too-pale cheek, Fane instead concentrated on following the directions that led him just a few blocks west of the office building.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled to a halt in front of the towering glass and steel building. What was it with the assassin and glass? Screw the view. The last thing he wanted for Serra was to feel exposed.

Tossing the keys to the uniformed valet, Fane kept Serra firmly at his side as he crossed the elegant lobby decorated in tones of blue and silver. Not surprisingly, the clerk was handing over the card key before Fane could open his mouth.

If Bas had been trained by the monks, then he would be meticulous, efficient, and compulsively organized.

And paranoid.

Taking the key card, he tugged Serra toward the elevators, ignoring the speculative glances from the housekeeping staff who were preparing for the day.

Thankfully Bas wasn’t the only one trained by the monks.

Or paranoid.

Very, very paranoid.

Chapter Six

Serra felt like she’d been shoved back into the fog of confusion that had compelled her to drive from Valhalla to St. Louis. Only this time she wasn’t completely oblivious to her surroundings.

She knew that she was in an upscale hotel a few blocks from Bas’s office building. And that she was riding in a glass elevator up to the top floor. She even had a vague impression of the breaking dawn painting a beautiful pink glow over the nearby river. A sight that she might have appreciated any other morning.

But the only thing that seemed truly real was the feel of Fane’s hand that was planted at her lower back, the heat of his touch a welcome assurance that she wasn’t alone.

The elevator came to a halt and, following Fane to one of the two suites that composed the top floor, she waited for him to use the card key to push the door open.

With an effort she tried to shake off the strange sense of lethargy, glancing around the large sitting room with low, comfy furniture in browns and tans that were arranged to take advantage of the glass wall that offered a stunning view of St. Louis.

Against one wall was a fireplace with a large-screen TV suspended over the mantel and on the other was a wet bar complete with a wine rack. There were doorways leading to two bedrooms and another that offered a glimpse of a bathroom as large as her entire apartment at Valhalla.

Serra forced a stiff smile to her lips. “I suppose there could be worse places to spend the last hours of my life—”

Her words were cut off as Fane placed his hand over her mouth, leaning down so he could speak directly into her ear.

“Shh.”

Serra frowned, effectively snapped out of her weird fog as the Sentinel scoured the room, pulling out two hidden transmitters that he crushed beneath his feet before lifting his hand toward the chandelier in the center of the room. There was an electric prickle in the air as he used his powers to disrupt any hidden cameras.

He sent her a searching gaze, as if trying to determine if she was going to do something stupid if he left her alone. Then, giving a nod at her fierce scowl, he jogged into the attached bedrooms to perform a similar sweep. The bathroom was last, and much to Serra’s disgust he found two transmitters and a camera hidden in the overhead light.

She would have accused Bas of being a perv if she wasn’t certain he was more interested in keeping track of his guests than seeing them naked.

Destroying the last of the expensive equipment, Fane returned to the sitting room, and headed directly toward her.

“Happy now?” she asked.

“No, I’m damn well not happy,” he growled, astonishingly wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her against his chest.

“Fane.” Serra tilted back her head. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d sprouted wings and begun flapping around the room. “What the hell?”