Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(53)

The assassin nodded. “It’s sold around the world and has made him a billionaire several times over.”

“Did you find her?”

“Of course.”

“Is she alive?”

“She was when I sent her location to my client. After that . . .” Bas gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Not my business.”

Serra grimaced. “Nice.”

Bas leaned to push open the nearest French door, pointing toward the center of the garden. “If you follow the path past the ugly-ass excuse for a fountain you’ll see a narrow opening in the hedges that connects to the adjoining estate,” he said. “You’ll have to use your powers to disarm the security system.”

Fane moved past Serra to step onto the wide terrace. “Are there guards?”

“One outside. One inside.”

Serra joined Fane, turning her head to study Bas who remained in the house. “You aren’t going with us?”

“No.” Bas shook his head. “I’ll keep our hostess distracted so your absence won’t be noticed.”

Serra rolled her eyes. “Convenient.”

“Not really,” Bas countered. “She can’t seem to keep her hands out of my pants.”

Serra marched down the shallow steps. “Let’s go.”

Fane was swiftly at her side, reaching into the pocket of his tux to pull out a small handgun.

His gaze searched the rigidly organized flower beds and mandatory marble fountain that sprayed water into the moonlight. There was nowhere for an attacker to hide. So why did the back of his neck prickle and his finger tighten on the trigger of his gun?

They circled the fountain and moved toward the small gardener’s shed at the very back of the property. Darkness wrapped around them, the sounds from the party muted to a distant murmur. Fane should have felt relieved. They were out of sight of the guests and far enough from the main street not to be spotted by stray passersby.

But he wasn’t relieved.

Instead his instincts were on full alert.

Finding the narrow opening in the hedge, Fane shoved his large body through the prickly branches, indifferent to the damage to his expensive tux. As far as he was concerned any male attire that required a tie and cufflinks should be banned for all eternity.

Then turning, he held the branches apart for Serra to join him.

Once through, she paused to yank off her impossibly high heels and tossed them aside. He stood at her side, inspecting the massive Tudor-style mansion that blazed with lights. There was a large back patio and the predictable pool with an attached pool house. Closer to them was a ring of large oaks that blocked the view of the house from its neighbors.

Fane grimaced as he realized there were way too many places an enemy could be lurking.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

Serra pressed close to his side, her profile tense. “I don’t either.”

“Do you sense something?”

She shook her head in frustration. “It’s all too muddled to pinpoint specific thoughts, but there’s a—” Her words broke with a shudder.

“Malevolence?” he finished for her, feeling the same creepy vibe.

“Yes.”

His teeth clenched, his instincts were screaming to toss Serra over his shoulder and get the hell out of there.

“How close do you need to get?” he managed to choke out.

She hesitated, her eyes closing as she tried to search for a specific mind among the masses.

“The pool house should be close enough,” she at last announced.

Grasping her hand, Fane slowly led her forward. When she was concentrating on her search for Molly she was completely vulnerable.

“Hold on tight,” he commanded, releasing a short burst of power that would disable any surveillance equipment.

Holding the gun in one hand, he passed through the trees and angled toward the pool house. He resisted the urge to hurry, knowing that Serra needed time to search through the thoughts that were bombarding her.

But, as they reached the edge of the cement that surrounded the pool, she came to a sharp halt.

“Stop.”

Fane was instantly on alert. “Is it Molly?”

Serra opened her eyes, her face pale with strain. “No, she’s not here.”

“Then what is it?”

“We’re being . . .” She struggled for the proper word.

“Serra?”

“Hunted,” she at last breathed.

Fane’s reaction was instantaneous. “Shit.” With one movement he had Serra scooped off her feet and pressed against his chest. Then, calculating the nearest escape route, he headed toward the high hedge at top speed. “Hold on.”

He managed to make it past the pool when he heard the barely audible click and then felt the blow to the back of his upper shoulder.

A man less experienced might have assumed that someone had slugged him with a baseball bat. But he’d been shot enough times to know he’d been hit by a large-caliber bullet.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he continued running forward, ignoring the warm wetness that was already spreading down his back.

They needed to get past the hedge before he tried to stem the bleeding.

There was another faint sound, but it didn’t sound like a trigger. Still, Fane tensed, preparing for another blow. Instead it was Serra who cried out in pain.