Zane’s Redemption (17 page)

“Do you know whether he hurt her?” Gabriel asked.

Knowing that Zane wasn’t one to shy away from mixing a little pain with his pleasure, Quinn wasn’t at all surprised at Gabriel’s question. However, he had no answer for it. “I was up for only a half hour or so. I didn’t hear any screams if that’s what you’re asking. And this evening I found Zane sleeping on the couch with the dog curled up by his side. Must have been quite a day for him to be so exhausted. I had to wake him to make sure he got to his assignment on time.”

Samson quietly contemplated Quinn’s words before he spoke. “Well, at least it appears he’s calm and under control. I spoke to Drake earlier. Of course, his ethics don’t allow him to disclose what Zane spoke about in his session, but Drake knows when to warn me about erratic behavior. And there seemed to be none.”

“Do you think he’s trying to fool us by pretending to be calm and collected when he’s not?” Gabriel asked, staring at Samson.

“He’s doing a good job if that’s the case,” Quinn chimed in, not wanting them to suspect how agitated Zane really was.

The encounter with the assassin and the discovery that Müller was most likely behind a master race breeding program had shaken Zane up; Quinn could see that. Having a woman over for a little playtime had probably helped calm his nerves a little, but Quinn knew all too well that this wouldn’t keep Zane calm forever. Only one thing would: finding the headquarters of the breeding program and eradicating its leader and top ranks.

Once the last of the monsters of his friend’s past were destroyed, perhaps he could finally find peace.

“Keep an eye on him. If anything changes, alert us immediately. We don’t want another killing.”

Quinn nodded in agreement and rose. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. I’ll check in with you periodically.”

“Thanks, Quinn, you’re a great help.” Samson offered his hand in thanks, and Quinn shook it.

When he stalked out of Samson’s Victorian home in Nob Hill and walked down the hill, he felt a heavy stone lifted from his shoulders. He hadn’t said anything negative about Zane; he’d given nothing away that would even border on betrayal. Of course, Zane wouldn’t see it that way. He’d still call him a snitch and toss him out on his ass. But if he were honest, even Zane would have to admit that Quinn was only helping him. As long as he could keep Samson and Gabriel pacified and make sure they found Zane to be no longer a danger to anyone, he was helping his friend rather than betraying him.

Having already checked out the Greyhound station on his way to Samson’s, Quinn headed for the train station, hoping to have better luck finding the locker that could be opened by the key Zane had given him.

The rush hour crowd had long left the station, and only those individuals who worked late were now waiting for trains to take them home. Quinn surveyed the platforms. Two trains were in the station, a couple of dozen passengers loitered along the gates waiting for their train to show, and a station agent wandered near the ticket windows, consulting his watch on and off.

Everything looked normal. Yet Quinn had worked in security long enough not to be fooled by the appearance of normality. He was never lulled into complacency, or any sense that this would be an easy task. At any time, another attacker could strike. If Brandt’s son had taken the precaution of not having identification on him so he couldn’t be traced anywhere, it was clearly information others were guarding, and Quinn knew to exercise caution in trying to unearth such information.

Instead of heading straight for the lockers that he spotted at the entrance to platform one, he perused the departure board. Only five more trains were scheduled for the remainder of the night. He looked over the passengers waiting on the platforms. His suspicious nature was appeased when he confirmed that only those platforms where trains were due in the next half hour were occupied by people. Good. At least on the surface, it appeared as if only genuine travelers were at the station.

Quinn turned and wandered toward platform one. He’d memorized the number on the key and now scanned the rows and columns of lockers, looking for it. There weren’t many, and he was lucky; his number was among them. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the station agent pacing.

Turning his attention back to the lockers, Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He inserted it into the lock and was encouraged momentarily when it turned, but there was only a click. He pulled, but the door didn’t open.

Steps from behind him made him spin on his heels, ready to attack.

“If it doesn’t open,” the station agent drawled, “then you gotta put more money in it.” He pointed toward a red flag over the lock that screamed EXPIRED.

“Oh, thanks.” Quinn pulled a few coins from his jeans pocket and dropped them in. After the third coin, the flag switched to green. He twisted the handle and heard another click.

The little hairs on his nape stood in alert. Quickly, he sucked in a deep breath. Shit! A familiar scent reached his sensitive nostrils.

“Still not opening?” The station agent’s hand came up and reached for the handle. “Sometimes you’ve gotta yank it.” And he did.

“NOOOOOO!” Quinn screamed to stop the man from pulling on the door and jerking it open, but it was too late.

The explosion rocked him back and, acting purely on instinct, Quinn jumped, grabbed the man and hauled them both several feet down the platform. As he covered the station agent with his own body, searing heat passed over him and debris scattered. Luckily, his heavy leather coat provided some protection from the heat as well as the metal items that flew through the air.

“Shit!” he cursed again. He’d smelled the residue of the explosive the moment the station agent had gripped the door and yanked it open.

Excited voices and screams came from the waiting passengers, and from the corner of his eye he saw several people running. Quinn turned his head, surveying the crowd, but his eyes strayed into the distance to the far platform where one man stood, not having moved.

Their gazes met for an instant, and even from a distance of three hundred yards, Quinn recognized the aura of a vampire. He could have sworn the guy hadn’t been there earlier.

Fuck!

He lifted himself off the station agent, who, although shaken, appeared uninjured. Helpful hands reached for him, but the good Samaritans were only getting in his way. When he looked back at the vampire, he was already gone.

Now all he could do was damage control. He counted: two dozen people had witnessed the explosion. He needed help. Pronto.

Chapter Seventeen

“Zane, I need you at the train station on 4
^th
and King, now,” Quinn’s frantic voice sounded through his cell. In the background, Zane heard a commotion. “There was an explosion.”

“Fuck! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Make that five. We need damage control.”

Zane flipped the phone shut and looked toward the stairs that led up to Portia’s room.

“Portia! Come down now!” he yelled.

To his surprise, she rushed down the stairs a few second later, a stunned look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

A hell of a lot of things, but he didn’t have the time to explain.

“I have to take care of something right now. You’ll have to come with me.”

He snatched her arm and dragged her to the door.

“Hey, I’m coming, I’m coming. There’s no need to be brutal.”

Instantly, he released her arm. In his haste, he hadn’t realized how roughly he’d grabbed her. “We have no time.”

He shot out the door, Portia following on his heels. Luckily, he’d come with his Hummer today since he’d planned on seeing Samson toward the end of his shift. Since Samson lived clear across town, he’d decided not to waste time by walking. He was glad now that the car was parked right in the driveway.

He jumped in. A moment later, Portia entered through the passenger door, and he gunned the engine, shooting out of the driveway and down the hill seconds later.

The Hummer was built like a tank in more ways than one. Zane had only just recently had the windows coated with specially designed UV protection Thomas had invented. They, in effect, turned the car into a blackout van that a vampire could drive during daylight. No harmful rays of the sun could penetrate the windows. From the outside, the windows looked no different than the tinted windows of any SUV.

But not even the specially coated windows eliminated all risks a vampire took when driving a car. Getting into a traffic accident would be life threatening if it happened during the day, and any traffic stop was always a risk. At least, using mind control on some unsuspecting traffic cop would take care of being pulled over and forced to open the window, but if the windows broke during an accident, he’d be toast. Which was why the Hummer was also equipped with shatterproof and bulletproof glass. All precautions had been taken.

“Where are we going?”

Zane turned a tight corner and barreled down the narrow street trying to avoid the mirrors of the parked cars on either side of the street. “Train station.”

He concentrated on the traffic, his superior senses alerting him to other cars, giving him a chance to avoid any collisions despite the fact that he was reaching speeds of fifty miles an hour.

Avoiding busy Sixteenth Street, he took a side street and pressed down the gas pedal further. Three minutes had passed since Quinn’s call, and he was closing in on his destination. Depending on how many witnesses had seen the explosion, and how many people were injured, it would require both him and Quinn to make sure that the scene was contained, and that nobody would have any memory of Quinn.

“What happened?” Portia’s voice pushed through his thoughts.

“An explosion.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. Is anybody injured?”

“I don’t know.” If they were, at least he and Quinn could heal them with vampire blood, but if somebody had died, they’d be too late.

The train station came up on the right, and he pulled the SUV to a stop, the tires screeching. He killed the engine.

“You stay here.”

“But, I can h—”

He glared at her. “You stay here. Don’t leave the car!”

Zane jumped out and slammed the door. It would have been better if he’d been able to come on his own, but he couldn’t risk leaving Portia alone in the house. She might use the occasion to run out on him and go to whatever fucking party was happening tonight. Those students for sure had a party each night.

At least with her only a few yards away, he’d be able to catch her if she pulled a runner.

He charged into the station and scanned his surroundings, spotting Quinn instantly. A group of people stood around, talking excitedly. Some were on their cell phones, most likely alerting the authorities or their friends.

Zane rushed to Quinn’s side.

“Help me wipe their memories of me,” Quinn requested. “There are too many for me to stop them from calling the police. All we can do is make sure they’ve never seen me.”

Zane nodded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Anybody injured?”

“No. Help me.” Quinn pointed to a few people now sitting on benches. “I already took care of those.”

Zane concentrated and let his powers flow to the group that was standing near the lockers, gawking at the damaged structure. Warm energy flowed through him as he sent his thoughts out to them, infiltrated their minds and planted his own suggestions in them, erasing any memory of how the explosion had happened and who they had seen.

Minutes passed in tense silence as he and Quinn worked side by side.

“I think we got them all,” Quinn whispered.

Zane looked at him. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Is anybody injured?” Portia’s voice came from behind him.

Zane whirled around and glared at her. “I told you to stay in the car.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I wanted to see if I could help.”

Portia craned her neck to look past him, but he simply grabbed her elbow and led her outside. He could sense Quinn behind him and cringed, hoping that his friends wouldn’t be able to connect Portia to the smell of his visitor from the day before.

“Hey, Zane, don’t you wanna introduce us?” Quinn planted himself next to Zane and smiled at Portia.

“Portia, that’s Quinn,” he grunted reluctantly.

When Quinn shook her hand and inhaled, Zane noticed his nostril flaring. A sideways glance confirmed that Quinn indeed recognized her scent as that of the woman in his bed the day before. Well, maybe all could still be saved. Quinn never needed to know who she was.

“Nice to meet you, Quinn. Are you a bodyguard like Zane?”

He nodded. “One of the best. And you?”

Portia opened her mouth to respond.

“Quinn, can we talk about the explosion?” Zane tried to steer the conversation into another direction.

“Oh, I’m Zane’s assignment,” Portia talked over him.

Shit, he shouldn't have risked taking her along.

“Assignment?” Quinn’s head turned slowly and his gaze crashed into Zane’s glare. He lowered his voice. “This is your
charge
?”

The warning was clear in the tone of Quinn’s voice. After what he’d seen last night, he would assume the worst. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

“Can we talk about the explosion now?” Zane gritted between his teeth.

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Fine. But this discussion isn’t over.”

Police sirens blared in the distance.

“Let’s get out of here before the police arrive,” Quinn suggested.

Zane couldn’t agree more and pointed toward his Hummer. “Get in.”

As soon as they’d all climbed in the car, Zane started the engine and drove down the Embarcadero. At a quiet spot, he parked the car and turned in his seat, looking at Quinn who occupied the back seat.

“Now give me the lowdown. What happened?”

“The locker was rigged with an explosive device. I smelled it, but that stupid station agent pulled the handle before I could stop him and the whole thing blew apart. We were lucky nobody got injured. I think your assassin planned for every eventuality.”