Authors: Tina Folsom
It was busy on the bridge as they crossed the bay, and while John concentrated on the rush hour traffic, Samson turned to Blake. He’d insisted on both of them sitting in the back.
“How’s Miss Schroeder holding up?”
“I think you might want to start calling her Lilo.”
Samson raised an eyebrow. “So I wasn’t wrong then.”
“She saw me at my worst when I got shot. I couldn’t control the beast inside me. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.” Blake smiled at the recollection of how she’d tended to his injury, even though he’d been behaving like a wild animal. “She’s brave.” And that was the thing he admired most about her.
Samson chuckled. “Reminds me of somebody I know.” He paused. “Actually, reminds me of a few women I know. Very special women.”
“Me, too.”
“You trust her?”
He didn’t even have to think about his answer. “With my life. Did Ryder tell you how she got the silver bullet out?”
Samson smiled. “Quite ingenious. I’m glad you’re alright.” Then he turned serious. “A few things about this case don’t make sense for me yet.”
“Just a few?” In Blake’s mind, there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense.
“There’s something about this Ronny that doesn’t ring true. We believe him to be behind the disappearance of his girlfriend and the manufacture and distribution of the drug. But what’s not consistent with that picture is this: why go through the trouble of dropping Hannah’s terrier off at an animal shelter?”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too.” Blake shrugged. “Maybe he’s an animal lover.”
“It’s possible. I just don’t see him being the caring type. Especially considering he shot you—which by the way is another thing that doesn’t make sense. Why attack you?”
Involuntarily Blake rubbed his shoulder where the bullet had entered. “I was wondering the same thing. First I thought maybe he was after Lilo, but considering the bullet was silver, I believe it was meant for me. Maybe he followed us after we left Hannah’s flat. Maybe he was watching it?”
“To what end? His associate, Norwood, had already been there earlier.”
“True, but he left empty-handed. Well, he got Lilo’s cell phone. But from what I could tell, he didn’t find what he was looking for. Why else would he ask Lilo where
it
was? I can only assume that he wanted the USB stick. Maybe to cover his tracks.”
“That would mean he knew it existed. How would he have found out?” Samson rubbed his nape.
“Assuming that Ronny didn’t know about the camera in Hannah’s flat, the only person who could have told Norwood or Ronny about it is Hannah.”
Which could actually be good news. Samson seemed to think so, too.
“They didn’t kill her. Maybe they have no intention of killing her,” his boss said.
“You think they’re using her? Like they use the other humans for their crimes?” The thought sent a shudder down his spine, and chilled him to the bone. “That means they’re using the drug on her.”
“To make her compliant, yes, it’s possible, though they could do that with mind control, too. No need to waste the drug on her,” Samson said.
Blake nodded and fell silent again. He hoped that in the woods in Napa they’d find not only Ronny, but also Hannah. Ronny hadn’t returned to his house in the Excelsior since he, Wes, and Lilo had searched it, so he had to be holed up somewhere else. And what better place to keep a kidnapping victim than in a remote cabin where nobody would hear Hannah’s screams for help?
“How much longer, John?” Blake asked.
“According to my GPS, we’re almost there.”
Blake glanced out the window. Dense vegetation lined the narrow road on both sides. “Where are we?”
“On the border between Napa county and Sonoma county. It’s only thinly populated. Lots of off-the-grid people out here from what I’ve heard,” John informed him. “Probably why Ronny chose this area.”
Samson nodded. “Twenty, thirty years ago, there were a lot of marijuana growers up here. The feds conducted a ton of raids here. But they weren’t always very successful. The growers chose pretty secluded spots. That was before they legalized cannabis, of course. Now there’s no need for those secret farms anymore. It made space for other illegal operations to move in.”
Blake grunted. “Well, let’s evict the bastard.”
~ ~ ~
The GPS only got them as far as a dirt road that culminated in a dead end a hundred yards off the paved road they’d been on. There was no sign of a house or any kind of habitable structure, though according to the latest map, this was supposed to be a legitimate address. Not that any mailman would ever find it: there was no number posted anywhere, and no mailbox either.
Blake got out of the car and looked around. His colleagues joined him until all eight were assembled. Maybe this many trained bodyguards was overkill, but without knowing how many accomplices Ronny had apart from the one they’d identified as Norwood, Samson had insisted on the best and toughest men (and women) in his employ. It was a shame that Zane was still in New Orleans. Gabriel was running HQ in Samson’s absence, while Quinn had agreed to look after Lilo. He and Rose had arrived at Blake’s house just as Blake had left. Call him overly cautious, but he wasn’t going to take any chances when it came to Lilo’s safety.
“Fan out,” Samson ordered. “If you see a structure, notify the team by text. Everybody’s cell phone set to silent. Now.”
Blake checked his phone, then his weapons. A small-caliber handgun was holstered on his hip, a silver knife hidden in his boot, and a stake tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket, though he hoped he didn’t have to use it. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t mind inflicting a little pain with his silver knife, to explain how it felt in a language that Ronny understood.
All his senses on alert, Blake stalked into the darkness, aware of his colleagues around him, though everybody was careful where they stepped, trying to remain as quiet as possible.
About a mile away from the main road, Blake saw a faint light. He carefully approached, his eyes searching the ground for possible booby-traps that might alert Ronny. About a hundred yards away from the structure, which looked like an old, run-down cabin, he stopped and texted his position to his colleagues.
His superior night vision picked them up a few moments later as they circled the building and closed in. Blake lifted his hand to tell them to remain where they were, then walked closer to the spot where a sliver of light was coming from. It was a window. And though the curtains had been drawn, somebody had been sloppy, leaving an inch uncovered. Blake moved his head closer to the glass and peered inside.
A living room. Empty.
Blake shifted his angle, but all he could see was a door, but not where it led to or whether anybody was there. They’d just have to take their chances. Suddenly a sound came from inside. Blake’s heart stopped, and his mind tried to analyze what he’d heard: cutlery clanging against metal. Either somebody was eating, which meant it wasn’t Ronny, or somebody was trying to give a signal.
He turned around and made hand signs to alert his colleagues that at least one person was inside the cabin. He waved to Wes, and the witch joined him. They’d already discussed earlier what to do. This time, Wes didn’t speak the spell to open the door—since Ronny, if he was inside, might hear them out here in the wilderness where there was no ambient noise. Instead, Wes had brought a potion that opened any lock without making a sound. He now poured it over the doorknob, put the empty bottle back into his small backpack, and stepped back as if to say,
It’s all yours
.
Blake motioned to his colleagues to cover the windows in case Ronny made a run for it, then nodded at John, who was now giving him cover. Blake drew his gun, and without further ado, he kicked the door open and stormed in.
There was a sound coming from one of the rooms, and Blake headed for it, hearing his friend rush into the house behind him. He kicked the door to the room open and aimed his gun at the person inside the large kitchen.
“Shit!”
“Ronny!”
The jerk dropped the utensils he was working with and lunged for the door that led into the next room.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” Blake warned calmly, knowing his colleagues were cutting Ronny’s escape route off. “Silver hurts like a bitch.”
But Ronny didn’t stop—and ran right into Amaury who grabbed him and slammed him against the nearest wall, holding him there, suspended.
“Let me go! Damn it!” Ronny yelled, struggling, but Amaury was stronger.
“You want first dibs, Blake?” his linebacker-sized friend offered.
“With pleasure,” he grunted and swung his fist into Ronny’s face, slamming his head so hard into the wall that the lath-n-plaster cracked. “That’s for the silver bullet you left in my shoulder.” He swung again and this time delivered an uppercut to Ronny’s chin. “And this is for Hannah!”
Blood ran from Ronny’s nose, and Blake’s fangs lengthened automatically. His fingers turned into claws, and he lifted his hand, ready for another punch. But his claws didn’t connect with Ronny’s face. Instead, somebody was holding him back.
Blake whipped his head to the side.
“That’s enough. We need him alive,” Samson said, before releasing his wrist.
Blake sucked in a breath and stepped back. Then he looked at the others who’d entered the kitchen. “Have you found Hannah?”
They shook their heads.
“Not a trace,” Haven said.
Blake turned back to Ronny, narrowing his eyes. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know!”
“The fuck you don’t!” Blake shot back. “I’m asking again: where is Hannah? Where are you keeping her?”
“I don’t have her,” Ronny wailed. “They’ve got her. I don’t know where she is.”
“You sack of shit! Liar!”
“I’m not lying. Please, let me go. If they know that you found me, they’ll kill her.”
“Who’s they?”
He motioned to the large table in the kitchen, where he’d been working with several bowls and herbs. “The vampires behind all this.”
Blake scoffed. “Are you trying to tell me you’re just a pawn? How stupid do you think I am?”
“It’s the truth! They’re using her to make me do what they want. But if they find out that I’m no use to them anymore, they’ll have no reason to keep her alive.”
Blake moved closer, flashing his fangs. “You’d better be telling the truth.” He turned to Samson. “We’ll take him to HQ to interrogate him.”
“No!” Ronny protested. “I have to finish this batch. If it’s not done when they need it—”
“Let’s go, buddy,” Amaury interrupted and hoisted him out of the room.
“I’m gonna stay,” Wes announced all of a sudden. “Hav, can you leave me your car?”
“What are you gonna do?” Blake asked.
Wes pointed to the table. “I’m gonna check on what he’s been doing. It might help me understand how the drug works.”
“You’re gonna be okay on your own?” Haven asked, concern etched in his face. “Want me to stay with you?”
“I can stay, too,” Yvette offered.
Wes shook his head. “It’s gonna bore you to death. So, no. Just go home. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” Haven conceded.
“No worries.” He motioned to his backpack. “I’ve got all the protection with me that I need. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Lock up? I’d say, burn the place down.”
“Not yet,” Wes replied. “We might still need some of this later. Besides, if Ronny told us the truth, then we’d better keep things the way they are until we’ve got Hannah. I’ll put a locking spell on the house when I leave.”
“Sounds good,” Samson agreed, then he said to the others, “Let’s move it.”
Blake nodded at Wes, then followed Samson and the others outside. He could only hope that what Ronny had said was the truth, and that Hannah was still alive, and would remain alive as long as her captors believed that Ronny was complying with their orders. But so far he didn’t believe Ronny. He needed proof.
33
Wesley waited until his colleagues had left and silence had descended on the house. A quick glance told him that it would be a little while before he left this place. There was a lot to investigate. But just in case Ronny’s associates were to show up unannounced, he decided to set up protective wards that would alert him to any intruder. Once the magic crystals were in place—one outside the door, and one outside each window—he went to work. Only another witch would sense the wards, a human or vampire wouldn’t even notice the crystals until it was too late.
Wes turned to the table, where Ronny had been mixing up the various herbs. There were several bags filled with strange dried leaves, measuring spoons, and various metal containers and other utensils. He looked around in the kitchen, sniffing. On the stove sat a large earthen pot with a lid.
He walked to it and lifted the lid, but instantly staggered back. The smell emanating from the disgusting-looking black sludge was vile. And he was no stranger to vile smells. He’d brewed enough awful-smelling potions in his life, but this concoction took the cake.
There was no way to test the brew here. He would have to take samples back to his lab. He opened his backpack and took a vial from it, snatched a clean spoon from one of the kitchen drawers, and scooped some of the black sludge into the vial, then sealed it tightly and put it in a plastic container so it wouldn’t get damaged in his bag.
“Well, then,” he murmured to himself and started examining each herb on the table individually. The Höllenkraut he recognized immediately. In the last twenty-four hours he’d read everything he could find about the plant. And the more he found, the more he was concerned. Some of the other herbs he could identify visually, others by their smell. He catalogued each of them on his notepad, and bagged samples. But there were several he didn’t recognize. Fortunately, thinking ahead, he’d packed his
Herbal Companion
book into his backpack, and now retrieved it.
He leafed through it and was able to identify all of the herbs Ronny had been using. Some seemed rather innocent: chamomile, for example. He shook his head. What effect would an innocuous herb like chamomile have in this dangerous concoction? Clearly it did something, but he couldn’t figure it out, just by looking at it. He’d have to find Ronny’s recipe book. Somewhere, he must have written down the exact proportions of each herb he used in the manufacture of the drug.