Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter 7)

Illium told the computer experts to see what they could dig up on that point, then moved on to the four remaining properties.

“This one here,” he said, pointing to an X in Harlem, his wings held tightly to his back in an astonishing fall of color, “was a restaurant that shut up shop three months ago.”

“Their gimmick,” Dmitri continued, “was to give all the patrons a free miniature jar of handmade peanut butter.”

Ashwini remembered the place—she’d gone once with Demarco. The food had been terrible. Even peanut butter couldn’t save it. “Three months is too short a window unless the abuse began elsewhere.”

“What about these two?” Janvier pressed his fingers to twin Xs not far from the port where Raphael had blasted and sunk a ship full of Lijuan’s infectious reborn.

“Warehouses with the same owner.” Illium’s golden eyes gleamed. “Giorgio.”

Ashwini’s skin prickled, but she knew they couldn’t rush to judgment. Too many of the older immortals enjoyed pleasure that was perverse to anyone who possessed an ounce of humanity. But the hairs were rising on the back of her neck, the image of Giorgio’s “perfect” brainwashed harem front and center. The man was a master manipulator.

Good enough to string along vulnerable women who wanted to believe in hope.

“The warehouses are in active use,” Dmitri added, “but the computer searches picked up an interesting fact—they’re consistently only being used to half their capacity.”

Ashwini folded her arms. “So one could be empty?”

“Or one is in full use, the second only utilized enough to provide cover for other movements in and out,” Janvier pointed out. “The extra space could’ve been made into a grotesque ‘playroom.’”

It made an ugly kind of sense. Why risk hiding the women in a residential area when the warehouse and port district had enough ongoing noise to provide cover for any screams in the daytime? As for the night—aside from the odd security guard, the area would be deserted. Giorgio could have redone the interior or a part of it to his standards before moving his captives in.

A perfect prison within relatively short reach of his Vampire Quarter residence.

“Does he import nuts or items that would have the scent?” Janvier asked, the tension across his shoulders telling her his instincts were shouting exactly the same things as her own.

“Yes.” Dmitri brought up a manifest on a tablet, handed it over. “He’s not the only one who imports such goods, but the other shipments are all stored in warehouses shared between multiple companies.”

“And this last?” Putting the manifest down on the table, Janvier tapped the final X.

“A midsized factory that packaged peanuts. Shut down a year ago and left boarded up by the owners.” He brought up images of the four properties on a part of the glass table that Ashwini belatedly realized wasn’t a simple table at all. “The factory also has enough space that your killer could’ve set up a private room inside—and Khalil was one of the financiers behind the venture.”

Janvier hissed at the sadistic vampire’s name, but shook his head. “We check the factory out, but I say it’s Giorgio. Khalil is vicious, evil at times, but he’s never been this sly.”

Yes, she thought, that was the right word. There was a cruel slyness about it all, a sense that the monster had been laughing at his victims; such meanness fit Giorgio with his shiny new house, false bonhomie, and herd of devoted cattle. And there was something else, something she’d seen and forgotten, something important.

She heard Dmitri speak again, mention that Trace had found a dead drug dealer in the same general area, a man who’d been dealing Umber. It was a coincidence too good to be true. But that wasn’t what held her attention, what occupied her mind.

Felicity was whispering to her.

What she had to say changed everything.

“The watch!” Violent anger tore through her, made her voice shake. “Janvier, when we interviewed Giorgio, the bastard was wearing the watch Felicity bought him!” It hadn’t registered at the time except as part of his entire getup. “He was taunting us even then.”

Janvier’s response was a stream of Cajun-flavored cursing that turned the air blue.

Things moved at rapid-fire speed after that. Dmitri authorized them to use whatever force was necessary to bring Giorgio in and rescue any other hostages. Illium and a mixed angelic/Legion squadron would provide aerial backup. Meanwhile, Dmitri would coordinate with Sara to clear the other possible properties, on the slim chance that Giorgio wasn’t the killer.

•   •   •

Ashwini was used to working alone for the most part, but she had no problem being on a team. Especially when the core of that team was made up of her, Janvier, and Naasir. They knew one another’s rhythms, could predict split-second decisions with near-total accuracy and make the necessary course corrections.

Now, the three of them made their way to the suspicious warehouses while another unit cleared Giorgio’s house. If he was there, they’d take him into custody. Ashwini didn’t care about that at this instant—she wanted the bastard to pay, but her first priority was to rescue any other women he’d caged.

Leaving the car some distance away in order to maintain stealth—the one thing they did not want was for Giorgio to murder his victims in a fit of rage—the three of them went onward on foot. “Up,” she said to the two men.

Grinning, Naasir jumped onto a rooftop with a feral grace that was magnetic. But not as compelling to her eyes as Janvier’s fluid leap up. She made the motion for “Go” and they headed onward. The two would take Naasir’s lower skyroad, while she’d go in on the ground, and their aerial backup would drop down from above the cloud layer on their signal.

She tugged down the ball cap under which she’d hidden her hair after dirtying up her face, made sure her battered and patched sunglasses were on her nose, and slouched forward with her hands in the pockets of her raggedy black coat. A young vampire at the Tower had dug up the ankle-length piece out of God knew where.

On her feet were sneakers as ragged. She hated being without her boots, but they were the thing that most often gave people’s true motives away, especially hunters and military types. It was something Saki had taught her soon after her admittance into the Guild.

Shoes and wristwatches, that’s where folks slip up.