Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(7)

“I’m well aware of that,” he snapped.

“We have to prioritize the hunt somehow,” Martin told him. “Do you have any orders or preferences on how we do that?”

He tapped a front tooth with his thumbnail as he thought. Mary had lived in St. Joseph, which was located in southeastern Michigan. A few days ago, she had crossed the state border to go to Notre Dame, in northern Indiana, where two of his drones had tried and failed to kidnap her.

Then she and Michael had met up somehow, somewhere. It didn’t matter how the two had found each other. He knew that Michael and Astra had been searching for Mary just as he had been, and twinned souls had a knack for connecting with each other.

Soon after the two had reunited, he had found them through a little dark spirit who brought him news of their location, for a blood price. They had gone to ground in a cabin that was not far from Michigan’s western coast, and it was significantly north—almost halfway up the Lower Peninsula.

Perhaps Michael and Mary had only gone in that direction because that was where the safe house was located. But if Astra’s location were somewhere entirely different, say for example further south, would they have risked adding so much more mileage to their trip by going in the opposite direction—especially when they knew he was hunting for them?

He didn’t think so. That meant they were traveling north for a reason. And with him so close on their heels, they would have only one overriding reason. Astra.

He said, “Concentrate your resources along the western and northern coastline of the Lower Peninsula. Set up a roadblock at the Mackinac Bridge. We don’t want them to cross over to the Upper Peninsula if we can avoid it. If they reach the national forest up there, it will be even harder to ferret them out. And make sure the state patrol understands they need to maintain an aggressive search on all the main highways.”

“Yes, sir,” said Martin.

His mind switched gears, and he remembered another avenue of research he wanted to pursue.

Nicholas Crow had shown himself to be an adept in things of spirit that most people knew nothing about. That was why he’d had Crow assassinated.

He had done it to clear his way to meeting the President—and shaking the President’s hand was a goal that remained near and dear to his heart. Ironically, though, now that Crow was no longer an obstacle, he didn’t have time to orchestrate a way to meet the President and either turn him into a drone or take over his body. He would just have to conquer the Commander in Chief some other time.

But Crow still interested him, after the fact of his death. How had the man learned the things he had learned? And why had Crow chosen such a targeted career path that led him to head the Secret Service detail that protected the President? Who Crow was, the totality of the man, seemed so . . . specific.

Long ago, Astra had scattered her teachings throughout the First Nations, sowing knowledge of the spirit realm throughout all the peoples who migrated over continents and multiplied like rabbits. Ever since that time, he never knew when something might pop up to plague him.

Had Crow learned what he had known from one of his elders? Or was it just possible that Astra herself had a hand in teaching him?

“One more thing,” he said. “I want you to dig into Nicholas Crow’s background.”

At least there was one good thing about his drones. When he gave an order, they never asked why. They simply did as they were told.

Martin said, “Certainly. There will already be a couple of detailed dossiers of him on file. Not only did he have the highest level of security clearance, but his murder is getting an aggressive investigation. What level of information are you looking for?”

“I want to know everything,” he said. “I want to know what Crow liked to eat for breakfast. I want to know where he was born, where he grew up, and where he went to school. I want to know who he f**ked when he was a teenager, and every lover he’s had since then. I want names of friends and family members, all the important people in his life, and where they live.”

He had learned a long time ago to leave no stone unturned. As busy as he was these days, it still might be very productive to interrogate a few of the people from Crow’s life.

Martin said, “I’ll have my staff compile the available data, and I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”

“Excellent.” It was a good start. If the information currently on file didn’t have enough detail to satisfy him, he would have Martin’s people dig further. “When are you coming to Michigan?”

“I’ll fly into Grand Rapids this evening.”

“Contact me when you get here.” He punched the disconnect button.

That was when he looked down at his hands, really looked at them for the first time since the cabin, where Mary had killed his former host by inducing a heart attack and forced him to leap into the body of his nearest soldier drone. Even though he was in an entirely different body, just remembering the battle caused a phantom pain to ghost through his chest.

He ignored it and turned the hands over. They were broad and callused, with thick wrists and chunky finger joints. Wiry ginger hair coated the back of the hands and arms.

His lip curled as he inspected them. This was not at all the type of body he preferred to inhabit. He typically chose young, handsome hosts with well-toned bodies, and he had a particular preference for blue eyes. People responded so well to blue-eyed handsome young men.