Keri Arthur - Moon Sworn

I locked the front door as I came out. Quinn touched my back lightly, guiding me across to the car. At least the ear-splitting music had stopped. “We must find time to undo your mind restraints, too.”

“As I said, that’s not important right now. We need to track down our killer first then confront Blake.”

He opened the passenger door and ushered me inside. “You do know that this time, defeating him won’t be enough.”

His words had something twisting inside, if only because they were forcing me to confront what I’d long known but hadn’t really admitted.

Because the guards inside that house weren’t the only ones who were dead men walking.

Blake and whoever else was involved in this scheme were, as well.

But not via the Directorate.

Not via a gun.

It could never be that easy.

No, I had to kill Blake the same way he’d killed my grandfather.

With my wolf.

It was the only way to keep the pack from coming after me and Rhoan and everyone we loved.

T welve hours later, with Evin and Lyndal safely tucked away in the West pack’s heartland and with Harris’s promise to keep them safe at all cost, Quinn and I walked into the day division’s tiny conference room.

Sal was the only other person who’d arrived, and she was working at the terminal and frowning at the images flickering across the remote screen. She spun around as we entered, and her smile was wide and genuine.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our lost wolf,” she said, voice droll but humor crinkling her eyes. “Enjoy your holiday, did you?”

“Totally.” I plunked down on the chair next to hers. “I’d love to say I missed your cheery face, but the truth is, I couldn’t even remember it.”

“I heard that. Shame you didn’t also forget you worked for the Directorate. It’s been so peaceful around here without you.”

I grinned. “So you were bored shitless, huh?”

“Totally. So do try not to get kidnapped again.” She glanced at Quinn, and her expression became more formal—which surprised the hell out of me. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

I glanced at him as she rose and walked across to the coffee machine—which was sparkly new, and had obviously been installed during the time I’d been missing.

I’m an old one , he said, the amusement that had been barely evident in his words bubbling through his mental tones. Sal’s merely showing the respect we old ones are due .

I gave a mental snort and he added, with another burst of amusement, Of course, it also helps that she’s been asked to become an official member of the Melbourne vampire council and I happen to be one of those who have the deciding vote .

But Sal hates the council. She said that months ago .

Things change. In this case, I believe the change of heart goes by the name of Norman .

Norman? What a staid old name. I hope he’s not .

Oh, trust me, Norman’s not staid .

Well, good, because she deserves better .

Careful. That almost sounds like you care .

She’s bringing me coffee. Of course I care . I glanced around as said coffee was plunked in front of me and I gave her another grin. “Should I inspect it for arsenic?”

“In deference to you being returned to the fold, I left it out. But don’t drink tomorrow’s coffee.” Her tone was amused as she handed Quinn his coffee then headed back to her computer.

I took a sip, then asked, “Why are you fiddling with the computers in here?”

“It’s quieter. Jack doesn’t want anything distracting me once the operation starts.”

A comment that would no doubt be explained once Jack got here. As if on cue, he and Rhoan walked in, both of them looking tired and more than a little rough around the edges. Both carried large cups of coffee, although given the bags under my brother’s eyes, it was going to take more than a bucket of the brown stuff to keep him awake and alert.

“Got the systems hooked up yet, Sal?” Jack asked.

“Finalizing it now,” she said briskly. “Just a few minutes more.”

Jack grunted and slapped several folders on the desk as he sat down opposite us. Rhoan just perched on the table’s edge, his posture reflecting his tiredness. Obviously, he couldn’t be bothered walking any farther.

“Remember me saying that I thought the name Daskill sounded familiar?”

I nodded, and he pushed a folder forward. Quinn stopped its slide across the desk and opened it. I’d been expecting a rundown of whoever Daskill was, but what we got instead were photographs. Vivid, bloody photographs of the remains of what I presumed were a woman and child. They’d been so torn apart it was hard to tell. Only the remnants of their nightdresses gave their sex away.

“Bobby Daskill’s wife and child were murdered in their beds while he was on a business trip. The main suspect was Bobby’s business partner, Henry Kattram, who had apparently been having an affair with Bobby’s wife for over a year. She refused to leave Bobby and apparently broke it off. Those pictures are the result.”

“Then why is Kattram still listed as a suspect?” Quinn asked. “Why was he never charged if the police are so certain he was their murderer?”

“Because Henry Kattram was found dismembered in his bed twenty-four hours later.” Jack indicated the photos.

“In a manner eerily similar to the way Jenny and Evie Daskill were killed.”

“Daskill obviously was the main suspect, so why was he never charged?” I asked.

“Because he was one hundred miles away with friends at his country retreat. One of those friends was a high court judge.”

“Convenient,” Quinn murmured. “But from what I’ve heard about Kattram, he’d be the sort to have closed circuit TV both inside and outside. What did that reveal?”

“A shadowy figure wearing a mask, gloves, and some sort of shoe covering.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Surely not a demon costume?”

Jack half smiled. “No. It was just a black mask and padded clothing, but the idea is the same. If they leave no prints, and you can’t see their face or body shape, it’s hard to make any sort of ID.”

Quinn closed the folder and pushed it back to Jack. “If he is behind these murderers for hire, he surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to use his own planes or helicopters.”

“He might if it was an emergency and there was no obvious link back to him. Daskill owns a private jet and helicopter charter service catering to remote areas. The helicopter Harris downed was hired by one Harry Jones—who is not the vamp and who actually doesn’t exist.”

“Charter services these days have to have cameras and facial recognition software installed in their offices, so what did that come up with?”

“Again, nothing. We suspect he might have been a Helki wolf, because the one capture we got of his face showed their distinctive eyes.”

I nodded. If you were going to use fake ID, then what better person to use than someone who could physically alter their human shape? Not so much their size or actual shape, but their physical characteristics. Hair, minor facial shifts, teeth, easy stuff like that. They could also change their eye color, but that apparently took more effort and drained their energy faster. “So what’s the plan? We have no obvious connection to the man, just our suspicions.”

And Jack never moved on suspicions alone. Well, rarely, anyway.

He gave me the sort of smile that a shark might have a heartbeat before he attacked. “Every bad guy makes one mistake. In Daskill’s case, he keeps records.”