Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(32)

“I would know if one of my staff were not—”

“Normal?” he helpfully supplied.

“Yes.”

“How?” he pressed, deliberately attempting to lead her to thoughts of her interaction with Bas. “Have you had any contact with high-bloods?”

“No.” The denial was too quick, too fierce to be genuine. “Why would I?”

“Then you won’t object if we take a tour of your establishment?”

Her spine stiffened as she realized her highly profitable business might be in danger. “Of course I damn well care.”

Fane folded his arms over his chest. “So you have something to hide?”

“I . . .” She bit her bottom lip, her gaze shifting to Serra. “Are you a psychic?”

“Yes.”

“Then you already know this isn’t a traditional B&B.”

“We aren’t here to investigate any illegal activities,” Fane said, regaining command of the woman’s attention. He wanted Serra free to concentrate on searching for the child. “Once we’re certain that the high-blood we’re searching for isn’t here we’ll leave.”

Logic battled against greed as the woman glanced toward a door behind them where a guard was no doubt waiting for her order to have them escorted off the premises.

Logic won, but she remained determined to protect her cash cow.

“There’s a matter of privacy,” she said. “My customers expect discretion.”

“I don’t need to enter every room,” Serra assured the woman. “Just take me to each floor.”

Fane stepped forward as the madam gave another glance toward the unseen guard. “Is there a problem?” he growled. “Do you want to personally speak with the Mave?”

“There’s no problem.” Genuine horror touched the woman’s face as she hastily turned on her heel and headed toward the inner door. The Mave had an even more ruthless reputation than he did. “Follow me.”

Stepping out of the outer lobby they entered a long reception room that destroyed any hint of a cozy B&B.

Gone was chintz and wainscoting and in its place were mirrored walls that reflected the nearly naked young girls that sprawled on black leather sofas and the white fake fur rug. The light was muted, but Fane was easily able to determine that the females were all beautiful and all dangerously young. It was little wonder that Madame Wagner was able to lure an elite clientele.

Ignoring their curious gazes, the older woman led them toward the staircase that led to the upper floor. They stepped onto the landing and Fane glanced down the paneled hallway to make sure the doors were tightly closed.

He wasn’t concerned about Serra’s modesty. She might be an innocent in many ways, but she wasn’t naive. Her gifts had been used to track children before and far too often it meant walking through the seedier parts of human nature.

No, he was worried one of the male patrons might be stupid enough to think she was available for their pleasure. One untimely grope and the male would be missing his arm.

He didn’t particularly care if he hurt a norm, but the paperwork was always a bitch.

In silence they walked to the end of the hall, Serra instinctively pressing close to his side as she depended on him to keep her safe while she shut out the physical world to focus on the psychic clamor that filled her world.

“Anything?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Fane glanced toward the silent Madame Wagner, jerking his head toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Let’s go.”

With a sour frown, the older woman stiffly led them up the narrow steps and into the hallway above.

Once again they walked slowly down the corridor, Fane blocking out the sounds of moans and soft cries as they hit the end hallway.

Serra came out of her light trance, frowning as she realized they had run out of real estate. Fane put a protective arm around her shoulder as he studied their companion.

“This is all of the rooms?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Serra abruptly said. “There are rooms above us.”

Fane shifted Serra behind him, his face hard with warning. “Do you think this is a game?”

The older woman swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, trying to stand her ground.

“The upper floor is for administrative offices.”

In no mood to squabble, Fane brought an end to the argument by reaching behind his back and pulling out his gun.

“Show us.”

Madame Wagner gave a small gasp of shock, her hands shaking as she pulled a key ring from her jacket pocket and moved toward a nearby door.

Shoving the key in the old-fashioned lock, the woman pulled open the door, glancing over her shoulder to reveal a face pale with fear.

“Please try to be—”

Fane lifted his brows, forcing her to say the word. “What?”

“Discreet,” she muttered.

Serra gave a short laugh, meeting Fane’s wry glance. He was many things. Ruthless, deadly, and utterly loyal to name a few. But under no circumstances was he discreet.

With a shrug, he followed the woman over the threshold, on full alert as they moved down the secret corridor that had chairs set next to the wall. He grimaced as they bypassed a man sitting in one of the chairs, peeking into a hole that had been drilled through the wall.