Charlaine Harris - Must Love Hellhounds

“An RV?” His British accent, which she’d barely been able to discern until now, had become stronger. Did that mean he was suppressing an emotion, or loosening up? “A motor home in August isn’t going to be easy to pin down.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Sir Pup whined, and she gave him a quelling glance in the rearview mirror. All six of his eyes were focused on the bag sitting on the console. Three one-track minds, but it was all greed. A hellhound didn’t need food; he just liked to eat.

“Just a minute, Sir Pup.” She didn’t want to be distracted. “Where did you get this info?”

“Would you believe your friend talked in front of me?”

Would she? James was inviting her to come find him-stop him. But to blab in front of someone like a cartoon villain? “No. How do you know where she’s headed?”

“Why did you pretend to kill him? Why didn’t you carry out your assignment?”

She clenched her teeth. “You have my file, Mr. Blake. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’ve seen the kill order. I’ve seen the report you filed, saying the mission was completed. I’ve seen the forensic report, which stated that the charred chunk of flesh they’d found-which was all they’d been able to recover after you’d blown his house to hell-was a DNA match to James. But none of those forms tell me anything that happened between.”

Her mouth fell open. A kill order and the follow-up reports? Those weren’t kept electronically, weren’t something Savi could have hacked. Someone had physically gone into CIA headquarters and copied records that she-or even her direct supervisor-wouldn’t have had clearance to access. A Guardian, maybe-teleporting, or slipping through shadows.

“You’ve obviously no intention of giving me an answer,” Blake said, but he didn’t sound frustrated. He sounded relieved.

And his accent was still audible.

“Are you going to give one to me?”

“No.” He smiled, and his eyes met hers, eerily direct. “But it’s for your own protection.”

“I could say the same.” But more than that, she just couldn’t-wouldn’t-divulge classified information. Blake could poke around all he wanted. She wouldn’t spill sensitive details about her job now, or fifty years from now. She pointed out, “And knowing what happened then doesn’t change anything. We still have to stop him.”

“Knowing how I discovered where Katherine was last night doesn’t change anything, either. We still have to get her.”

All right, she couldn’t argue with that. Yet there must be another way. “Sir Pup, would you let me shoot him? Torture him for answers?”

Blake had a deep, rumbling laugh. The hellhound pushed one of his heads between the seats, his expression curious.

She sweetened the offer. “For a steak?”

Though she could barely see him behind Sir Pup’s big head, she heard Blake say, “What did my uncle ask you to do if she threatened me?”

Instantly, Sir Pup’s head shifted four times larger, his teeth serrated like knives. Scales rippled over his fur; barbed spikes ripped through, tipped with blood.

His eyes glowed with crimson hellfire and fixed on Maggie’s hand, clenching the steering wheel. Cold sweat broke out over her skin. His mouth was gentle when his enormous jaws closed over her forearm, but she got the message.

She was trembling when he let her go. She hoped she didn’t sound as terrified as she felt. “Thanks, Sir Pup. That’s good to know.”

The hellhound shifted back to his former size and snagged the fast-food bag from the console. He retreated into the back, giving her a clear view of Blake again.

His face was gray, his hands shaking as he pushed them through his hair.

“Christ, Maggie,” he said. “I didn’t know that he would-I shouldn’t have asked him that. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. She hadn’t expected it, either. But she was glad Sir Pup’s demon form hadn’t just scared the shit out of her. Blake had obviously been just as-

Wait.

How the hell had Blake known what happened?

“You saw that. You saw him change.” Her heart knocked against her ribs. She stared at his solid-blue eyes, stunned-but couldn’t deny the evidence. “You can see.”

“I-” His eyes widened. His mouth closed. His jaw tightened. “You don’t know that,” he said flatly.

“I don’t? Because I sure as hell-”

“No, Maggie. You don’t. If anyone asks, you don’t know. Not until we find Katherine. Not until the problem with James is settled.”

“All right.” She understood that. Her knowing was something that didn’t go farther than this vehicle. Not even to Ames-Beaumont. Because if Ames-Beaumont learned of it while he was uncertain about her role in Katherine’s kidnapping…

Maggie smiled grimly. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed for knowing too much. She stole a glance at Blake. His eyes were closed, and he was pressing his clenched fist to his forehead. If she had to guess, he was giving himself a heated telling-off.

But maybe, she thought, maybe he’d meant it when he’d offered to stand between her and Ames-Beaumont. If it came to that.

Not, of course, that she would let him. But it was still a good feeling.

“She’s awake,” Blake said quietly.

Maggie blinked away her highway stare and glanced over at him. A few minutes ago, he’d been asleep. His eyes were still closed, but he’d raised his seat from its reclined position.

“She’s moving slowly,” he continued. “In the bedroom at the back of the caravan. She’s not tied, but the door won’t open. They’ve left her a basket of food, bottles of water. There are windows, and they’ve been darkened with some kind of film. She’s waving. No one in the other cars is noticing. The setting sun is on the left.”

“Heading south,” Maggie said hoarsely. A shiver kept running up and down her spine.

He was seeing, she realized. He was looking through his sister’s eyes.

Blake nodded. “On a divided highway. Two lanes each direction. The car behind them has South Carolina license plates. So does the one passing it.”

And she and Blake were only halfway through New Jersey. The RV had at least twelve or thirteen hours on them.

But not as many hours as it could have had. Whoever had taken Katherine would have been farther if they’d driven straight through. They’d pulled over either to rest or to wait for someone.

“There’s a water closet. The window doesn’t open. She looks all right in the mirror. No bruises.” The monotone recitation broke for an instant, and he laughed. “That’s right, Kate, flip me the bird. She’s got an injection site in her neck, the same as mine. They took blood, too. And she’s looking at the toilet, so that’s my cue to head out for a bit.”

Maggie’s heart pounded. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

Blake was silent for a few seconds. Then he told her, “She can’t see through mine.”

“Whose are you seeing through now?”

“Yours.”

Maggie stared out the windshield. Sickness clawed at her stomach-she wasn’t sure why. Revelations like these were one of the reasons why she’d taken a job with a vampire. She couldn’t have gone back to normal life after finding out about dragons, or Guardians. She’d have always been looking, and wondering.

She drove and waited for the sick feeling to resolve. It finally did.

Her reaction wasn’t in response to his ability, but the implications of it. Blake possessed a form of remote viewing. What nation wouldn’t want to use that for intelligence gathering-or take steps to prevent it from being used against them?

Jesus. No wonder Ames-Beaumont was so obsessed with protecting his family. If he hadn’t been, every government in the world would have been trying to exploit them-or destroy them.