Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(27)

It was more than the starched, black chauffeur’s uniform with matching hat he was currently wearing. Or even his practiced air of deference that made him practically invisible.

The training he had received as an assassin meant he could create a magical illusion that was impossible to penetrate.

Today the illusion included making him six inches shorter, fifty pounds heavier with a round face and pale blue eyes.

Heading straight for the elevators, he arranged the heavy garment bag over his arm and waited until he’d reached the top before pulling the card key from beneath his jacket. It wasn’t until he stepped into the hall that he realized the key wasn’t going to be necessary.

Instead, he pulled the gun from his pocket as he headed toward the door that had obviously been kicked off its hinges.

“Samuel?”

There was the sound of footsteps before his most trusted reader appeared in the empty doorjamb.

“I’m here.”

Bas narrowed his gaze. The man looked unharmed, which meant he’d been caught by surprise.

A rare occurrence.

“Troubles?”

The man jerked his head toward the door across the hall. “The Sentinel already made me.”

Bas swallowed a curse. Goddammit. Maybe his plan to force the psychic to St. Louis had been slapped together in haste, but he’d tried to eliminate as many complications as possible, hadn’t he?

It’s what made him such a successful leader.

And yet, for all his efforts, he now had a rabid, fully trained Sentinel howling for his blood.

Talk about complications . . .

He gave a slow shake of his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Samuel wasn’t finished. “He also destroyed the surveillance equipment we planted in the room.”

Bas rolled his eyes. Of course the bastard had destroyed equipment that had cost him a small fortune.

Not that it truly mattered. What they did inside the privacy of their suite didn’t interest him.

“Did he or the woman leave the hotel?” he demanded.

The reader shook his head. “No.”

“Any visitors?”

“None.”

It was what Bas had expected. The Sentinel wasn’t stupid. He knew he was being watched and that any attempt to contact Valhalla would put Serra in danger.

Something Fane wouldn’t risk.

The two might not be bonded, but it was obvious they were emotionally entangled.

Which was the only reason Bas wasn’t currently plotting the best means to kill the bastard.

“I want a watch kept on the room at all times,” he informed Samuel. “If anyone so much as lingers in front of the door I want to know.”

Samuel nodded. He was a strong enough telepath to reach Bas even if they were miles apart. Which was why Bas had chosen him to keep guard on the female who was his only hope of saving Molly.

“You got it.”

Turning, Bas moved across the hall, not at all surprised when the door was pulled open before he could knock.

Fane would have sensed his presence the minute he got off the elevator.

He was, however, faintly startled when the tattooed Sentinel wearing nothing more than a white robe recognized him the moment he caught sight of him.

“It’s Bas,” Fane growled, clearly speaking to the woman who was out of sight. “Do you want to speak with him?”

“Do I have a choice?” the female voice demanded, stepping into view wearing a matching robe. She looked deliciously rumpled, as if she’d just crawled out of bed. Then, catching sight of him, her brows drew together. “What the hell?”

“Assassins are masters of illusion,” Fane said, his gaze never wavering from Bas.

The exquisite green eyes narrowed. “And you can see through it?”

Fane nodded. “Yes.”

The female made a sound of annoyance. “Why can’t I?”

“He can block you on a psychic level,” the Sentinel said.

Serra looked offended. Bas was willing to bet she rarely met anyone capable of screwing with her powerful talents.

She sent Fane a frown. “But not you?”

The Sentinel shrugged. “We’ve had the same training.”

His explanation did nothing to ease her annoyance, but with a toss of her glossy raven hair, she turned her attention to Bas.

“What do you want?”

He held up the garment bag. “I brought your clothes.”

Her lips curled in disgust. “I brought my own, thank you very much.”

Ignoring the Sentinel whose very presence was a threat, Bas stepped into the room and crossed to lay the designer bag on the low settee. At the same time he discreetly pocketed the gun. There was enough violence sizzling in the air.

No need to amp it up.

The more willing Serra was to finding Molly, the better for all of them.

“You don’t know what you’ll need,” he calmly pointed out.

“And you do?” Serra arched a brow. “How?”

“I suspect that the . . . person who has taken Molly is one of my former clients,” he confessed. “It’s the only way they could have so much info on me and my people.”

Fane folded his arms over his chest. “It could be one of your psycho band of traitors.”

Bas gave a sharp shake of his head. “No.”