Blake's Pursuit

Had Hannah fed the dog, then taken him for a walk and never come back? Or had she left in a hurry to get away from Ronny, taking Frankenfurter with her? What if Ronny had shown up at her apartment and fought with her? Hurt her or kidnapped her? What if he’d killed her, and removed her body…

She shuddered at the thought, looking around for signs of a struggle. But the place was tidy. A few magazines on the coffee table, a blanket on the couch, a chew-toy for the dog next to a chair. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly no blood stains on the carpet. She lifted one edge of the old rug. No blood stains underneath it either. She breathed a sigh of relief.

On the dining table, Hannah’s computer sat open. She touched the mouse to wake up the system, and a login screen appeared within seconds. But without knowing Hannah’s password, she couldn’t unlock the screen. She tried a few different combinations: Frankenfurter, Bergdorf, IloveMom, even her own name, but none of them worked. Clearly, her friend was too sophisticated to use a password that could easily be guessed by anybody with a passing knowledge of her.

If she wanted to find out what Hannah had been doing before she disappeared, she needed to get into her computer. She wanted to check her recent search history and her inbox to see if she’d received any worrisome emails. Either might provide a clue as to where she was. But first of all, she needed to go to the police to report her missing. And she would do that right after she’d taken a quick shower and gotten changed out of her thick clothes, which made her feel like she was in a sauna. Her skin was sticky, and she felt tired from the trip. A shower would revive her again and lend her the strength she needed to look for her friend.

2

Blake shoved his cell phone back into the pocket of his cargo pants as his long legs ate up the distance between his office and the conference room at the other end of the long corridor in Scanguards’ Mission headquarters. Despite the stress and the long hours that came with his job, he loved it. He loved being in charge of security for the hybrid children of some of the most powerful vampires on the west coast—even if it meant putting his own needs before theirs. When he’d been human, and much younger, he’d been a selfish and entitled trust fund baby. Now he was making up for it.

He nodded to Oliver, his de-facto brother, who was coming out of the elevator.

“You’re only now just rolling in?” Blake asked, grinning. “Trying for another baby?”

Oliver shook his dark, unruly mane. His hair wasn’t long, but thick and stood out in every direction. “One is enough, thank you very much. And if you could play uncle and take care of Sebastian for a few hours this week, so Ursula can get the house in order for her parents’ visit, I’d appreciate it.”

“Hey, your son practically lives at my place!” Or rather in Blake’s refrigerator, which he had trouble keeping stocked, given the amount of food the twelve-year-old could devour.

Oliver chuckled. “Shouldn’t have bought that big house. Now you’ll never get rid of the youngsters. Let’s face it, they’d all much rather hang out with you than with their parents.”

Blake smiled. “Only because I let them run wild.” He motioned to the conference room. “Zane and the rest of them are way too strict with their offspring. Too much discipline isn’t good. They need an outlet.”

Oliver smirked. “As I said, you’ll never get rid of them now.” He turned and sauntered in the other direction.

For a moment, Blake just stood there. He and Oliver hadn’t started off on the right foot, when they’d first met over twenty years earlier. But they’d been thrown together because they were kin: Quinn Ralston, Blake’s 4th great-grandfather, was Oliver’s sire, and they’d lived together under Quinn and Rose’s roof for several years. Rose, who wasn’t related to Oliver by blood, had borne Blake’s 3rd great-grandmother shortly before her turning, and thus ensured the survival of the Ralston clan.

Smiling to himself, he opened the door to the conference room and let himself in. Several members of the Scanguards management team were assembled around a large conference table. A speakerphone stood dead-center on the table.

“Sorry, running late,” he apologized to nobody in particular and sat down next to Amaury.

The linebacker-sized vampire with the shoulder-length dark hair and the piercing blue eyes acknowledged him with a sideways glance, pointing to the phone as he murmured, “Donnelly is giving us the weekly crime report. You haven’t missed anything.”

“What worries me, Samson,” Detective Donnelly was saying through the speakerphone, “is that there are way more robberies and home invasions than usual. Something is up.”

Samson, Scanguards’ founder, a tall vampire with sleek black hair and a chiseled face and physique, rested his elbows on the table and leaned a little closer to the speakerphone. “What do you want me to do, Mike? You know as well as I that Scanguards only gets involved in city business when it concerns infractions committed by vampires. That’s our deal. And from what you’re telling us, most of these crimes are committed during daylight.”

The implication was clear: the crimes couldn’t have been committed by vampires, who needed the cover of darkness to operate safely.

Zane grunted in agreement. Blake tossed him a quick glance. As usual, the bald vampire looked like he was ready to rip somebody’s head off. Zane’s eyes flickered down to his watch and then he pushed his chair back, nodding to Samson. “Flight’s in a few hours. Gotta get ready.”

Samson nodded back, and then exchanged a look with his second-in-command, Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugged indifferently, but the scar that marred the left side of his face ticked, a sure sign that he was affected by the matter. The scar stretched from his ear to his chin, a gruesome reminder of the emotional and physical pain he’d endured as a human.

“Come on, guys, the city compensates you handsomely for your consulting services,” Donnelly added now. “Just this once. Just have one of your guys look into it.”

Gabriel sighed and met Samson’s eyes directly. “How about John? Maybe he can check it out, determine whether there’s anything odd about these robberies? Won’t take him longer than a day or two, I reckon.”

Quinn, who’d been silent until now, ran a hand through his blond hair. He looked no older than mid-twenties, though he was close to two hundred years older than Blake. “I can pull John off patrol duty for a couple of nights, but I’ll need a replacement for him.”