Deadly Pursuit (A Blood Hunter Novel, #2) (58 page)

Jon
turned
to
face
the
vampire.
“But
why?
The
man
was
immortal—why
would
he
kill
himself?”

Rico
shrugged.
“Some
people
can’t
handle
the
whole
long-life
thing.
You
must
have
seen
it
among
your
wolves.”

It
was
true—Jon
had
seen
many
wolves
die
and
none
of
them
from
natural
causes.
There
were
ways
to
commit
suicide
without
actually
killing
yourself.
Just
pick
a
fight
with
the
wrong
person.

“He
obviously
went
to
great
lengths
to
hide
the
fact
that
he
committed
suicide,”
Rico
said.

“But
somebody
knows,”
Jon
said.

Rico
cast
him
a
sharp
look.
“Why
do
you
say
that?”

“Why
else
would
they
try
to
shut
me
up?
If
they
thought
it
was
a
straight
contract
killing,
why
not
let
me
serve
my
sentence
and
die
in
the
mines?”

“Then
whoever
knows
must
also
suspect
that
you
know
who
paid
you
to
do
the
job?”

“Or
they’re
getting
rid
of
me
because
I
know
how
to
kill
them.
Jesus,
this
is
doing
my
head
in.
Why
would
Ross
fake
his
own
assassination?
And
why
the
hell
would
anyone
care?”
He
crossed
the
room
to
where
Janey
still
sat
in
front
of
the
console.
“You
got
the
proof
you
need?”

“Of
course.”
Janey
sounded
offended
by
the
question.
“I’ve
transferred
the
data
to
El
Cazador
.”

“Good.
Let’s
get
out
of
here.
We
can
think
it
through
once
we’re
back
on
the
ship.”

Jon
headed
for
the
door,
but
Skylar’s
voice
in
his
comm
unit
stopped
him
in
his
tracks.

“You
have
company.”

“Who
is
it?”
Rico
asked.

“The
good
part
is,
it’s
not
Corps.
Looks
like
some
sort
of
local
security
force.
Probably
triggered
by
you
going
in
there.”

“And
the
bad
part?”

“There’s
a
whole
load
of
them—twenty
at
least.”

“Okay,
thanks,
sweetheart.”

“You
want
me
in
there?”

“Hell,
I
want
you
anywhere
I
can
get
you,
but
stay
outside
for
now.
Be
ready
to
cause
a
distraction
once
we’re
out
of
here.
I
don’t
want
anyone
following
us
back
to
the
Cazador
.”

“Will
do.
They’re
heading
down
the
drive
now.”

Rico
turned
to
Jon.
“Keep
a
watch
on
the
entrance.
Yell
as
soon
as
anyone
gets
into
the
building.”
He
strode
across
to
the
desk
where
Janey
still
sat
at
the
console.
“Can
you
pull
up
the
plans
for
the
house—find
us
another
way
out.”

She
nodded,
and
Jon
moved
away
to
stand
just
inside
the
doorway.
From
there,
the
main
access
to
the
house
was
visible.
Huge
windows
lined
the
front
wall,
giving
a
clear
view
of
the
approaching
men.
They
wore
dark
blue
uniforms,
not
the
black
of
the
Corps,
which
was
good
news.

But
even
so,
these
men
were
alert.
Their
weapons
weren’t
drawn,
but
their
hands
rested
on
their
laser
pistols.

“You
have
about
one
minute,”
he
said.

Janey’s
hands
flew
over
the
keyboard.
They
didn’t
falter
as
she
answered.
“I
need
another
thirty
seconds.
I’m
just
getting
the
codes
for
the
rear
entrance.”

Jon
considered
closing
the
doors;
it
would
give
them
maybe
a
few
more
minutes
before
they
were
discovered,
but
it
would
also
block
their
only
exit
from
the
office.

Rico
came
to
stand
on
the
other
side
of
the
doorway
and
they
both
drew
their
pistols.
Rico’s
eyes
filled
with
that
familiar
dark
excitement
that
Jon
knew
was
reflected
in
his
own.

The
front
door
opened,
and
the
men
stood
framed
in
the
doorway.
They
cautiously
stepped
into
the
wide
hallway,
their
weapons
drawn
now.

“Done,”
Janey
said
behind
them.

Jon
turned
to
tell
her
to
stay
down,
but
too
late.
She
stood
up.
One
of
the
men
in
the
hallway
must
have
caught
the
movement;
he
raised
his
pistol
and
aimed
it
at
the
doorway.

“Go,”
Rico
said.

Moving
as
one,
Rico
and
Jon
stepped
into
the
open
doorway,
their
lasers
already
blazing
as
they
moved
into
position.
Two
of
the
men
went
down,
a
third
got
off
one
shot.
Jon
countered
with
a
shot
from
his
own
laser,
and
Rico
blasted
him
in
the
head.
The
others
were
falling
back
but
shooting
as
they
went.

Behind
them,
Janey
screamed
and
crashed
to
the
floor.

Chapter
Sixteen

The
men
retreated
and
took
cover
outside
the
main
entrance.
Jon
knew
they
wouldn’t
stay
there
for
long,
though.
They
only
had
minutes
at
most.
He
turned
to
glance
at
Janey.
She
lay
still
on
the
floor,
but
as
he
watched,
she
shifted
and
rolled
on
to
her
knees.

“Stay
down,”
he
said.

Janey
gritted
her
teeth.
“It’s
not
as
though
I
have
a
lot
of
choice.”

“How
bad
are
you
hit?”

“Not
bad.
Just
a
glance.”
She
hissed
with
pain.
“But
it
got
me
in
the
lower
leg.
I
can
walk,
but
I’ll
slow
you
down.”

They’d
be
back
soon.
They
must
be
aware
there
were
only
three
of
them.

It
was
obvious
what
he
had
to
do.
And
maybe
it
was
better
this
way.
At
least
he’d
go
out
doing
some
good.
He
took
a
step
toward
Rico,
who
turned
to
face
him,
one
eyebrow
raised.

Jon
nodded
toward
Janey.
“Take
her
and
get
out
of
here.
I’ll
keep
you
covered.”

Rico
hesitated.

“There
are
too
many
of
them,”
Jon
said.
“We
try
and
fight
our
way
out,
and
she’s
going
to
end
up
dead.”

Rico
glanced
from
him
to
Janey
and
back
to
Jon.
“Let’s
find
out
what’s
happening
out
there.
Skylar?”

“Yes?”

“What’s
going
on?”

“There
are
more
approaching.
I
suggest
you
get
out
of
there
before
you’re
surrounded.”

“Okay.
We’re
coming
out
the
back
way.”
He
gave
a
backward
glance
to
the
door
and
crossed
over
to
where
Janey
half
sat,
half
lay
on
the
floor.
“How
you
doing?”

“I’m
fine.
Are
we
getting
out
of
here?”

“Yeah,
we’re
getting
out.”
He
scooped
her
up
with
ease,
headed
to
the
door,
but
paused
beside
Jon.
“Don’t
be
a
goddamn
hero.
Give
us
enough
time
to
clear
the
building,
and
then
get
out
of
here.”

Janey’s
face
was
rigid
with
pain—her
mouth
a
grim
line,
her
eyes
closed.
Now
they
fluttered
open,
and
she
stared
at
Jon.
“What’s
happening?
We
can’t
leave
you
here.
Alex
will
kill
us.”

The
idea
that
Alex
might
be
even
slightly
upset
if
he
didn’t
return
cheered
him
a
little.
Suddenly
he
wanted
to
say
something.
Some
message
for
Alex.
But
what
was
the
point?
Instead,
he
forced
a
grin.
“I’ll
be
fine—you
know
I
live
for
this
shit.
Anyway,
I’ll
be
right
behind
you.”

Rico
nodded
once
and
turned
as
Jon
stepped
into
the
doorway.
Legs
braced,
Jon
fired
a
continuous
stream
in
the
direction
of
the
main
entrance.
When
he
peered
over
his
shoulder,
Rico
hadn’t
moved.
“Go,”
Jon
snapped.

As
he
watched
them
disappear,
his
chest
tightened.
What
had
he
expected?
That
Rico
would
stay
and
they’d
all
go
down
in
a
blaze
of
glory?
Buddies
together?
Who
the
fuck
was
he
kidding?
He
wasn’t
anybody’s
buddy.

He
backed
into
the
office
as
men
surged
through
the
door,
lasers
blazing,
cutting
off
his
maudlin
thoughts.
For
a
brief
second,
he
considered
not
responding,
letting
them
kill
him
and
getting
it
over
with
fast,
but
almost
at
the
same
time
he
acknowledged
the
impossibility
of
that—it
wasn’t
in
his
nature
to
go
down
without
a
fight.

He
countered
their
shots
almost
automatically,
until
a
blast
caught
him
in
the
arm.
The
acrid
smell
of
burning
cloth
seared
his
nostrils,
followed
by
the
sweet
smell
of
roasting
flesh.
The
pain
hardly
registered,
but
he
realized
that
their
lasers
weren’t
set
to
kill.
They
must
want
to
take
him
alive,
which
meant
there
was
a
chance
he
could
get
out
of
this.

For
years,
he’d
thought
himself
ready
to
die,
and
he’d
faced
death
many
times.
Now,
at
the
thought
of
survival,
exhilaration
raced
through
him,
sending
adrenaline
surging
through
his
veins.
He
fought
on,
countering
each
blast,
getting
in
a
few
of
his
own.
Bodies
littered
the
hallway,
but
there
were
still
plenty
more
left.

Rico
and
Janey
must
be
clear
by
now,
but
it
made
no
difference.
If
he
moved
from
the
relative
safety
of
the
office,
they’d
be
able
to
attack
him
from
all
sides
instead
of
just
one.
His
only
hope
was
that
they’d
eventually
back
off
again,
giving
him
a
chance
to
run
for
it.

As
a
plan,
it
was
downright
pathetic,
but
it
was
the
only
one
he
had.
At
least
there
was
still
hope.

A
small
black
canister
rolled
toward
him,
green
mist
oozing
from
one
end.

Shit.

He
held
his
breath
as
long
as
he
could,
but
finally
his
lungs
heaved
for
air,
drawing
in
the
sickly
green
mist.
His
belly
turned
to
liquid,
nausea
rose
up
in
his
throat,
and
a
wave
of
weakness
washed
over
him.
The
laser
pistol
dropped
from
his
useless
fingers
and
his
legs
gave
way
beneath
him.
He
crashed
to
the
floor.

Alex’s
gamine
face
flashed
across
his
mind,
and
the
last
thought
as
darkness
took
him
was
he
didn’t
want
to
die.

…

He
knew
it
was
only
a
matter
of
time
and
pain,
however
much
of
each
he
had
left
before
death
took
him.

If
he
could
have
shifted,
he
might
have
had
a
chance,
but
they
had
tied
him
tight
to
the
seat
so
he
could
barely
move,
let
alone
shift.
There
were
five
men
in
the
room
with
him.
They
weren’t
talking
yet,
but
one
thing
was
clear—they
didn’t
like
him.
Which
was
hardly
surprising—he’d
killed
at
least
eight
of
their
friends.

The
burn
on
his
arm
from
the
laser
blast
throbbed.
His
stomach
still
churned
from
the
gas,
but
he
forced
down
the
nausea.
He
was
bound
upright,
a
chain
at
his
throat.
If
he
threw
up
right
now,
he’d
probably
choke
on
his
own
vomit.
Not
a
way
he’d
choose
to
go.

One
of
the
men
with
sergeant’s
stripes
on
his
arm
came
over
to
stand
in
front
of
him.
He
had
the
look
of
a
career
soldier,
short
hair,
and
perfectly
creased
pants.
Jon
just
had
time
to
notice
them
when
the
man’s
fist
shot
out
and
cracked
him
in
the
jaw,
and
Jon’s
mouth
flooded
with
blood.

The
man
smiled
at
him,
an
expression
that
didn’t
reach
his
eyes.
Smile
apart,
the
guy
didn’t
appear
too
happy.
“Talk.”

Jon
spat
the
blood
from
his
mouth.
It
landed
on
the
sergeant’s
polished
boots,
and
the
man’s
jaw
tightened.

Hey,
there
was
a
plan.
Maybe
he
could
piss
them
off
enough
so
they
killed
him
quickly.
He’d
always
been
good
at
pissing
people
off.

“Talk
about
what?”
Jon
asked.
“Them
perhaps?”
He
nodded
at
the
row
of
dead
bodies
lined
along
the
hallway
floor.

The
sergeant
drew
a
knife
from
the
sheath
at
his
thigh
and
studied
Jon
while
he
tossed
the
eight-inch
blade
from
hand
to
hand.
Jon’s
own
hand
was
splayed
out
on
the
arm
of
the
chair.
He
only
had
a
second
to
realize
what
the
man
meant
to
do
when
the
knife
flashed
down
and
pinned
him
to
the
leather.

Shit.
That
hurt.
He
focused
on
the
blade
handle
until
he
knew
he
could
control
the
pain,
then
he
smiled
up
at
the
sergeant.
“Were
they
your
friends?
The
men
I
killed?
Boyfriends
maybe?”

The
sergeant
reached
out
and
twisted
the
blade.
Red-hot
agony
shot
along
Jon’s
nerves,
black
dots
dancing
before
his
eyes.

“Where
are
your
friends?”
he
demanded.

Jon
shrugged.
“I
don’t
have
any
friends.”

It
was
the
truth,
but
the
thought
sent
a
shaft
of
regret
through
him.
He
knew
if
he’d
been
a
real
member
of
the
crew
of
El
Cazador
,
they
would
never
have
left
him
behind
to
die.
Even
if
it
meant
dying
with
him.
He
remembered
how
they
had
behaved
with
Alex.
She
had
been
a
danger
to
the
whole
ship,
and
they
could
have
handed
her
over
at
any
time—even
gotten
a
reward
for
doing
it—but
they
hadn’t
because
she
was
one
of
them,
and
they
would
never
give
up
one
of
their
crew.

What
would
it
be
like
to
be
part
of
something
like
that
again?

He
was
never
going
to
find
out
now.

A
second
man
came
to
stand
beside
them.
“Sergeant,
we’ve
received
a
comm.
The
Collective
are
on
their
way.
They
said
to
hold
him
but
don’t
talk
to
him.”

“Screw
the
bloody
Collective.”
The
sergeant
loosened
his
grip
on
the
knife
and
stepped
back.
“This
piece
of
shit
killed
our
men;
that
means
he’s
not
getting
out
of
this
room
alive.
We’ll
get
whatever
information
he
knows
before
we
finish
him.”
He
looked
around.
“Has
that
interrogation
kit
arrived
yet?”