Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(9)

“You said that you tried her apartment?”

Callie nodded. “She didn’t answer the door.”

“She could be asleep.”

“No, I have a key.” Callie bit her bottom lip. “I went to check on her but she wasn’t there. And—”

Fane ruthlessly crushed the fear that threatened to cloud his years of training.

If something had happened to Serra she needed a warrior, not the man who’d wanted her for longer than she would ever know.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“There was a mess in her bedroom.”

Shit. He gripped the edge of the door, the wood cracking beneath the pressure.

“A mess?” he barked. “Like she’d been attacked?”

“No, her clothes were thrown around like she’d been packing in a hurry.”

Oh. A portion of Fane’s fear eased.

If she’d packed a bag then there was a chance this was nothing more than a misunderstanding.

“She has a home south of here,” he pointed out. Most psychics had private homes in isolated areas where they could get away from the “psychic noise” caused by living in a crowded community. “Maybe she was going there.”

“Without a word to anyone? I even called Inhera to see if Serra had been called away on an assignment.”

Inhera was the leader of the psychics and was responsible for scheduling their duties.

Fane grimaced. “She might have felt a need to leave Valhalla that had nothing to do with her job.”

Callie stabbed him with an accusing glare. “I know that she was upset, and why. But Serra has never just disappeared. She knows how worried I would be.”

Fane gave a slow nod.

Callie was right.

Even if she was pissed as hell with him, Serra wouldn’t leave without gaining approval from Inhera.

And more importantly, without saying something to Callie and her foster parents.

“Damn.”

He spun on his heel to cross to the far side of his living room where he laid his hand on a scanner. It took only a second for his fingerprints to be accepted and for a panel in the wall to slide open to reveal a hidden room that was built into all the Sentinels’ apartments.

“Fane?” Callie murmured in confusion, following him into the room and gazing at the high-tech equipment in fascination.

It couldn’t compare to the command center at the lowest level of Valhalla, but it was built with steel walls lined with powerful computers, which were linked to satellite feeds that kept track of government agencies. They also ran surveillance monitors.

Including surveillance for Valhalla.

Going to the nearest computer he tapped on the keys to bring up the camera that monitored the hallway outside Serra’s apartment.

“I want to check the tapes,” he muttered, clicking the rewind until he reached the point of Serra’s first entering her apartment.

“Why?” Callie demanded.

“There was something bothering her.”

He watched as she opened her door and then bent down to pick up something off the ground. What was it? He zoomed in. A gift-wrapped package. Was it the locket he’d seen her holding?

She entered the apartment and closed the door. He zoomed past Callie’s visit and his own arrival and abrupt departure. After that there was . . . nothing.

No one entered the hallway. Not until Serra’s door was opened and she walked away from her apartment with a suitcase clutched in her hand.

Once again he zoomed in, a cold trickle of sweat inching down his spine. There was no mistaking the pallor of her skin and the tightness of her features. Twice she reached up to rub her temple, as if she were in pain.

“Goddammit,” he growled, clicking to another camera to watch her progress through Valhalla. “I should have insisted she tell me.”

Callie swore beneath her breath. “Considering you were more than likely what was bothering her, I doubt she would have shared.”

He accepted the familiar pang of guilt, he deserved it, but he gave a shake of his head at the thought this was about his decision to leave.

Watching Serra take a tunnel to the outer garage and halting next to her personal SUV, Fane scowled in confusion.

She walked past a dozen friends who’d all tried to get her attention, her expression unfocused and her movements lacking her usual grace.

That wasn’t like Serra.

Then she opened the back of the SUV and shoved in her vintage Louis Vuitton suitcase that had been a gift from her parents. Callie gasped in disbelief.

“Okay, that’s it. There’s something really, really wrong,” she muttered. “Last year Serra nearly ripped off the head of a bellboy who tried to touch the handle of her bag without gloves on. She would never toss it around like a sack of garbage.”

Fane was moving before he even realized he’d made his decision.

“I’ll find her.”

Chapter Three

The St. Louis penthouse office was exactly what was expected of a successful businessman.

Consuming the twentieth floor, the office had three walls that were decorated with priceless abstract paintings, high-tech computers, and a dozen flat-screen monitors tuned to the stock markets from around the world. The fourth wall was made entirely of glass and offered a stunning view of the Gateway Arch. The furnishings were a sleek black and steel design and arranged over the marble white floor.