Fireborn (24 page)

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “And perhaps we merely prefer to be prepared.”

Well, it worked for the Boy Scouts, so why not the sindicati? “Look, enough with the word games. Play your trump card and let's be done with it.”

“As you wish.” It was said so formally, it wasn't hard to imagine him bowing as he spoke. “Please, pay attention to the screen on your right.”

As he spoke, a bright light cut through the darkness, taking me by surprise and making my eyes water. I blinked furiously to clear my vision and saw, on the small TV screen, Jackson.

He'd been placed on a sturdy metal chair concreted into the floor, his limbs tied separately to each leg of the chair and by silver, if the gleam along the wire was any indication. There was another strand of much finer wire looped around his neck, which was connected to the ceiling. It wasn't choking him, but if he tried to move—tried to escape—it would slice into his neck and perhaps even decapitate him. The thin trickle of blood around his neck suggested he'd already tested the boundaries of the noose.

But he obviously hadn't gone down without a fight, because his face was bruised, his lips cut, and his left eye swollen shut. His torso was in
little better shape, with his clothing torn and blood splattered, and cuts scattered across his chest and upper arms.

Anger surged through me, but again I controlled my fire. Now was
not
the time to reveal my hand. But Sam was certainly going to get more than an earful if I ever ran into him again.
He
was the reason this had happened. If not for that damn drug he'd administered, there was no way known the sindicati could have gotten the better of a Fae. Not when he could use the tiniest spark to create a bonfire strong enough to take out an army.

But they
had
gotten the better of him, and he was now one hell of a trump card. I could not—
would
not—let him come to harm for the sake of some damn research notes.

“A decent enough play,” I said, “but there is one sticking point—what guarantee do either of us have that you'll let us free once I've found the missing notes?”

“You have my word,” the vampire said. “You will both walk free once we have the final notebook in our possession.”

Yeah, but just how far would we get before they tried to take us out?

“Forgive me if this sounds insulting,” I said, as politely as I could manage and yet unable to help the slight edge of cynicism, “but the word of a vampire afraid to reveal himself is not something I'm inclined to put a whole lot of faith in.”

Anger surged, so fierce and thick it momentarily snatched my breath—which was pretty scary
given I wasn't usually
that
sensitive to emotions. I held my breath, my fires an invisible force ready to explode from my body. What good it would do me when I was so well tied up, I had no idea. If I'd been able to shift form, it would have been a different matter. But I couldn't. Not yet. Not until I got back to Rory.

The vampire didn't attack. In fact, he didn't do anything more than shut down the TV and plunge us back into utter darkness.

“You have twenty-four hours,” he said, voice clipped and colder than hell itself. “If you have not contacted us in that time—or if we suspect police or PIT presence—we will scatter bits of the Fae from one end of this city to another.”

Twenty-four hours didn't seem anywhere near long enough to find the missing notebook. Not given I had no idea where the hell it could be. But I kept my doubts to myself. Twenty-four hours at least gave me time to look. And time to figure out not only how to free Jackson, but to stop these bastards from getting what they wanted.

“And how do I contact you once I've found the notebook?”

“We have placed a number on your phone,” he said. “Ring it once you've found the notebook, and we will arrange an exchange.”

“The Fae had better not sustain any more wounds,” I said, voice as cold as his. “Or there will be hell to pay.”

“Do
not
threaten us.” He was so close that his breath whispered across the nape of my neck. My
breath caught somewhere in my throat and my stomach began to churn as I waited for that moment when teeth pierced skin. For several seconds, nothing happened; then he chuckled softly. The sound jarred uneasily against the ink surrounding us. “It would not be wise.”

“I
didn't
threaten.” My voice was little more than a croak of fear, but I couldn't help it. He might not smell as bad or radiate the desperation of the vampire who'd killed me several lifetimes ago, but he was still a vampire. And his hunger was so palpable I could have touched it had my hands been free. “I merely made a statement of fact.”

“As, indeed, do I.” His breath continued to brush my neck. “There is no place in this city we cannot get access to should we desire, and therefore no place that is safe from our ire. Remember that the next time you are tempted to make a statement of fact.”

And with that, something pierced my neck. Before I could flame, before I could even scream, the ink descended and I knew no more.

•   •   •

Waking the second time was no easier than the first. I groaned loudly and rolled onto my back—and the mere fact I could do that had my eyes springing open. It was immediately obvious that I was no longer in the hands of the sindicati. The utter darkness had gone, replaced by thunderous skies and a drenching mist of rain—and I have to
say, I've never been so happy about getting soaked in my life.

I was free and I was alive. It was definitely my lucky day.

The ground underneath me was slushy, meaning it had been raining for some time before I'd been dumped here—wherever the hell “here” was. There was no traffic noise and no industrial noise. In fact, there was nothing more than the occasional squawk of a bird and the mooing of cows. Meaning they'd dumped me in the country rather than the city. But why do that, given the twenty-four-hour time frame? It didn't make any sense.

Unless, of course, the black room itself was somewhere in the country rather than the city.

I carefully propped myself up on my elbows, but even that small movement had the hobnailed idiots in my head starting up again. I winced and tried to ignore the pain as I looked around. I was, as I suspected, in the middle of a field. Several cows were giving me the evil eye from under the cover of nearby eucalypts and, beyond them, kangaroos grazed near the banks of a decent-sized dam. Farther down the hill, sitting in a small hollow, the tin roof of either an old farmhouse or barn was visible through the trees surrounding it.

I shifted position, waited for the idiots in my head to calm down, and studied the land above me. There were tire marks coming into the paddock from a road that disappeared around the left of the hill, and, if the size of those tracks was any
indication, we'd come here in a four-wheel drive. Which really didn't help all that much, because there were a million and one four-wheel drives on the road these days.

There was no sign of Amanda in either direction, but I guess that was no surprise. After all, my cool-voiced kidnapper had stated they had other plans for her.

I pushed fully upright. Almost instantly, a dozen different aches fired into action, and for several minutes I did nothing more than breathe deep in an effort to keep my stomach from leaping up my throat. When I could, I did a quick body check—bruised ribs, cuts on my left arm and right leg, and wrists that were rubbed raw by the thick wire that had bound me. Nothing truly incapacitating—a miracle in itself given the force with which we'd hit that tree. Air bags really
did
save lives.

But what about my neck? Had it been teeth or a needle that pierced my skin? I tentatively felt around and wasn't entirely surprised to find two neat, round wounds. The bastard
had
bitten me, though I very much doubted he'd taken all that much. It was more a reminder of what he was and what he could do if he so desired. But what about the man in the shadows? I checked the other side of my neck, knowing from my time as a cop that vampires rarely used the same entry point even if they were sharing a victim. Luckily, it appeared as if I'd been spared the horror of my unsavory watcher taking a sip—though why I should be
more scared of being bitten by
him
than the vampire who'd done all the talking, I couldn't really say.

I took another deep breath that did little to ease the various aches and pains, then went through my pockets. All empty—not that I'd had much in them to begin with. Thankfully, there was a suspiciously familiar brown shape half-hidden in the grass ten feet or so away and, with any sort of luck, my phone and wallet would still be inside. I pushed upright. The paddock did a mad dash around me, and my knees briefly buckled. I swore loudly and fought to remain upright, knowing that if I went down I'd more than likely stay there. The cows, it seemed, were unimpressed by my language, because they now had their butts to me.

I glanced down at the valley, then up at the road, and decided to go up rather than down simply because it involved less distance and far fewer fences to climb over.

I walked across to my handbag. A quick look inside revealed both wallet
and
phone. But then, it would hardly make sense for them to take either of them—stranding me in the middle of nowhere with no way to communicate and no cash or cards to grab a taxi wasn't going to get them the notebook any quicker.

I turned on my stolen phone and discovered that it was nearly four in the afternoon. I'd been in the hands of the sindicati for more than five hours, even if I couldn't remember more than half an hour of it. I scrolled through the contacts list,
looking for the number I was supposed to ring once I'd found the notebook, and discovered it under the name of Mr. Dark and Dangerous. Someone in the sindicati had a warped sense of humor.

The next thing I did was take a couple of photos of the tire tracks. Who knew? Jackson's secret source might be able to uncover what type of four-wheel drive used these type of tires. How that would help us find the vehicle, I had no idea. With the way our luck was running, it'd turn out to be a tire used by most of the major four-wheel drives found here in Australia.

That was presuming, of course, Jackson got out of this alive and in one piece. God, I hoped he was okay.

Hoped the sindicati weren't dining on him as they had on me.

I squished down the worry and contacted Rory.

“Thank god you're okay,” he said without preamble. “I heard over the radio that there'd been a major crash on the freeway involving a red truck and a van, and I was worried it was you and Jackson.”

I hesitated, knowing he'd be madder than hell given my promise to keep safe, then quickly updated him on all that had happened.

“Damn it, Em!” he exploded. “They could have killed you!”

“Not until they get what they want,” I said. “Trouble is, I have no idea where that notebook is, and though there was a copy on my laptop, it also went missing.”

“Well, no, it didn't. I have it.”

I blinked. “You what?”

“The damn battery on mine died, so I borrowed yours. It's sitting in my locker at work as we speak.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead wearily. Even if I couldn't find the notebook, I still had a chance of saving Jackson.

“Em, you okay?”

“Yeah. Listen, can you meet me at home? Before I can do anything, I need to recharge. It's just become too damn dangerous to run around as I am.”

“Can do, but if you're intending to confront the sindicati, you are
not
doing it alone.”

“Rory—”

“No,” he cut in. “Not this time. I don't trust vampires at the best of times, let alone ones as steeped in crime as this lot. They won't see or hear me, Em, but I
will
be there, just in case.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. He was right. It was infinitely better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay. I'll meet you at home.” I hesitated, then added, “Oh, and don't bring the laptop. It's safer where it is for the moment.”

“No problem. See you soon.”

I hung up, then slowly made my way up the hill. The clean air and exercise didn't make the hobnailed folk any happier, but it wasn't like I had much choice.

The road at the top was little more than a thin strip of gravel, and I hesitated, undecided whether
to go left or right. Neither direction appeared particularly promising, given there was little more than trees and scrub to be seen either way. I tossed a mental coin, then headed right—at least it was downhill. Hopefully, it would lead somewhere. Even some sort of street sign would be handy right now; then I could call a cab.

After what seemed like ages, an odd sound began to cut across all the birdsong. I frowned and stopped. After a moment, I realized it was a car coming up the hill toward me.

Relief filled me, but it was quickly followed by wariness. This road didn't look particularly well used, so what were the odds of someone coming along at the precise moment that I needed them?

None. Not the way my luck had been running of late.

It couldn't hurt to be cautious. Even if it turned out to be a coincidence, as Rory had already noted, it was far better to be safe than sorry. I headed off the road, pushed my way through several feet of thick scrub, and sheltered behind the trunk of a big old ghost gum.

A dark blue car soon came into view. The windows were heavily tinted, so I couldn't see who was inside, but it slowed as it neared my tree. I resisted the urge to step closer to the trunk, knowing any sort of movement just might capture their attention.

If, of course, they were actually looking for me and not just slowing down for the corner.

The car crawled past, then stopped.

My breath caught somewhere in my throat. Damn it. What else could go wrong today? Wasn't being rammed into a tree and becoming an unwilling guest of the sindicati enough?