Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(34)

Fane reached to grasp her hand, giving her fingers a small squeeze of warning. She grimaced, but bit back her mocking response. He was right. Baiting Bas might give her a childish sense of satisfaction, but it was a waste of energy.

“Why the terminal?” she asked, trapping her raw emotions back behind her wall of brutal determination.

She was going to survive this.

Dammit.

“Two weeks ago my necro traveled there to read the memories of a recently murdered member of a prominent family,” Bas said, his own face wiped smooth of his brief irritation.

His necro?

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he had a diviner on the payroll. He seemed to have every other type of high-blood working for him.

“Why contact you?” she asked as they pulled into an empty parking lot between two large grain bins. “The police can call in diviners for murder victims without charging an enormous fee.”

Bas took off his hat and tossed it into the seat beside him before turning to meet her suspicious gaze.

“Because this particular family prefers to take care of their own justice.”

“What . . .” Serra stiffened. “They’re mobsters?”

Bas shrugged. “Cartel.”

She made no effort to disguise her disgust. Whores. Drug lords. Was there anyone this man wouldn’t take money from?

“Nice.”

He smiled, indifferent to her revulsion. “Does it make you feel better to know that my necro managed to discover the man was shot by his jealous wife instead of a rival gang? He prevented a bloody war that would no doubt have killed a dozen innocents.”

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?”

“I sleep just fine, Serra.” The bronze gaze slid toward the silent Sentinel at her side. “But if you’re truly concerned you can share my bed tonight—”

Fane exploded into motion so quickly Serra couldn’t track his movement. One second he was sitting beside her and the next he had lunged forward and grabbed the assassin around the neck, his grasp threatening to crush the man’s throat.

“My temper is on a hair trigger,” he said, his soft voice more terrifying than any amount of screaming. “Neither of us wants me to be provoked into something we’ll both regret.”

Bas held himself motionless, smart enough to know that Fane might not kill him, but he could make him deeply regret his taunting.

“You’ve marked your territory, Sentinel,” he said, waiting for Fane to remove his hands before turning his attention back to Serra. “Perhaps you should ask your guardian what darkness keeps him awake at night.”

“You’re a real prick,” she snapped.

Bas abruptly laughed with a genuine amusement. “I’m not sure if I envy or pity you, Sentinel.”

Serra shivered. There was way too much tension in too small a space. Grabbing the handle of the door she shoved it open and stepped onto the broken pavement. Instantly she was shrouded in a thick, humid heat that made her bra stick to her skin.

She rolled her stiff shoulders as Fane joined her, followed by Bas who had removed his chauffeur’s jacket and was now wrapped in the illusion of a middle-aged businessman with thinning, silver hair and a pot belly beneath his white cotton shirt.

“Are you sure the drug lord is going to be there?” she demanded.

The assassin pulled a phone from his pocket and punched in a short message before he lifted his head to glance around the empty lot. There wasn’t much to see. The grain bins, a pile of rotting railroad ties, and a huge mound of gravel that blocked their view of the river.

“I contacted him to meet me.”

“Here?” Serra asked in confusion.

“At the terminal down the road.”

Serra frowned. “You can’t believe he would bring Molly with him?”

“No, but he’s too smart to stash her at his house, or even the homes of his cartel.”

“Why not?”

Bas smiled. “They’re under constant government surveillance.”

Oh. Of course. That’s what happened when you lived the life of a criminal.

“So you think she might be hidden at the terminal?” she asked, baffled by why she’d been brought here if the drug lord didn’t have Molly with him.

“No, but he has several secret safe houses not far away,” Bas explained. “While I keep my client distracted, I want you to check out the area.” He nodded toward the car. “The houses belonging to the cartel are marked in the GPS.”

“How did you discover them if they’re secret?”

“I have many ways of uncovering what people attempt to keep hidden,” Bas assured her, adjusting his cuffs. “Secrets are a very profitable business.”

Arrogant ass.

“And money is so important?” she asked in dry tones.

“It’s a weapon. And for an assassin, that’s a gift beyond price.” He smiled, but Serra sensed he’d revealed a fundamental belief. He was obsessed with his need to be in power. “I will meet you back at this location in half an hour.”

Serra snapped her teeth together. She hated being given orders. “What if I sense Molly?”

“Don’t do anything,” Bas immediately warned, the eyes that were now a pale blue flickering to bronze. “I don’t want to find her and then get her killed because I rushed her rescue.”