Most of the houses were on regular-size lots, but Daskill had obviously bought up the residences to either side of him, because if the sheer length of the fence was anything to go by, there had to be at least an acre of land behind it.
Quinn touched his ear lightly, his expression intense as he listened to Jack speaking through the earpiece. His face held a slight sheen thanks to all the sunscreen he'd lathered on - mine probably did, too. With my skin still so sensitive to sunlight, I thought I'd better start protecting myself. I just had to hope that it didn't develop into something deadly. The one vampire condition I didn't want was their need to stay out of sunlight. Well, that and the need to drink blood.
I could hear Jack's voice echoing lightly, but it wasn't clear enough to understand. A second later, Quinn leaned forward and kissed me. "We're a go. Jack will contact you when I've taken down all the guards."
I ran my fingers lightly through his silky hair, taking care not to touch any skin and disturb the sunscreen. "Be careful."
"There are only four of them. Piece of cake." He smiled and winked, then climbed out of the car.
I leaned forward, watching him stroll casually toward the big black fence. The security cameras were rotating, but away rather than toward him. He glanced around, then with a leap any shifter or wolf would be proud of, disappeared over the fence.
I blew out the breath I'd been holding, and Rhoan glanced at me. "He'll be fine."
"I know. The man was a cazador, after all." And four security guards, however well trained, weren't going to present much of a problem for a man who spent hundreds of years as a hit man for the vampire council. "It doesn't stop the worry."
"Then you know what he goes through every time you walk out the door."
I raised an eyebrow. "Now, there's a case of the pot calling the kettle black."
"I was a guardian when Liander met me. He knew going in what he was getting into."
"I still worked for the Directorate. I handled the care and feeding of a boatload of vampires. That's not a riskfree job."
He raised an eyebrow. "But it doesn't exactly hold the same level of danger as being a guardian, does it?"
"No." I drew in a breath and released it slowly. "Which is why I'm talking to Jack once this job is over."
"Talking to Jack about what?" Jack said, into my ear.
I jumped. The external earpieces were so comfortable, I'd totally forgotten they were in.
"It's not important right now," I said. "Have you got any word on Quinn's progress?"
"Two guards are down, and he's just tackling the third now." He paused. "The third one is down."
"And the last?"
"Inside the main house. We can't risk trying to draw him out and alerting Daskill, so Rhoan, you slip in through the back and take care of him. Riley, your task is Daskill. He's upstairs with his wife."
Great. Just what I need to see - a bad guy having sex. "I'm gathering all security will be down by the time we get to the doors?"
"Sal's finishing it now. She reverse-coded, so it'll appear on when it's off."
"Give me a few minutes to get around the back," Rhoan said, his hand on the car door handle. "And be careful."
"If one more person says that to me," I said, an edge in my voice, "I'm going to punch them."
He merely smiled. "We just got you back. Give it a week and we'll be back to our uncaring selves."
I snorted and pushed him lightly. "Get out and go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to the real business at hand."
The amusement fell from his eyes. He knew just what that involved. And, like me, he wasn't happy about it -
even though it had become a necessity if we were ever to live free of Blake's shadow.
He touched a hand lightly to my cheek, then opened the door and climbed out. Like Quinn, he disappeared easily and quickly over the wall.
I glanced at my watch and waited a couple of minutes, then grabbed the car keys, climbed out, and locked up. This might be a posh area, but that didn't mean unlocked cars were any safer.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt and strolled toward the fence. The damn thing towered over me, and, wolf or not, I had trouble just grabbing the top, let alone hauling my ass over the edge.
I really needed to work on my upper body strength, I thought, as I landed rather inelegantly on the other side.
The lawns were landscaped and there wasn't a blade of grass to be seen, but the shiny white rocks clashed nicely with the green and red cordylines and native wild grasses.
My skin crawled with sudden awareness, and I glanced around to see Quinn walking through the shadow provided by the towering fence. Although walking was something of a misnomer - gliding would have been more apt.
Rhoan's in the house. He stopped beside me, his gaze on the house. Daskill and his wife are still upstairs. There is a second life-form on the ground floor.
I cursed softly. Besides the guard, you mean?
Yeah. I suspect it's either the butler or the chef. I know Daskill employs both.
Lazy bastard.
Amusement played around his mouth. The mega-rich do like their little treats. And he probably won't live long enough for them to get old.
There was no probably about that.
Okay, he added, the guard is down. Rhoan is moving to the back of the house. Time for you to go.
I blew him a kiss, then ran across the carefully manicured garden, my steps so fast and light I didn't disturb any of the rocks.
The security box near the front door sat in the alarmed position, and I hesitated fractionally before grabbing the handle and opening the door. No alarms sounded. Sal had done her job well.
I closed the door and looked around to get my bearings. The entrance hall looked bigger in life than it had on the plans, the ceiling double height and dominated by a massive gold chandelier. Four doors led off the entrance and a glass staircase complete with a gold banister curved its way up to the first floor. The scent of unknown werewolf was coming from the living area, which was the door on my immediate right, and from the back of the house came Rhoan's familiar tang as well as the soft hint of roses. Given that it was accompanied by the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread, I was betting it belong to the chef.
I headed for the stairs. Rhoan reappeared as I reached for the banister, and I raised an eyebrow in question. He raised a finger, then folded it half down. Meaning the chef was out for the count.
And if the crumbs on his shirt were anything to go by, so was whatever he was baking.
We climbed the stairs swiftly but silently. There were six doors leading off the overly large hallway, one of which was the bathroom, one a study, and the others were bedrooms. Daskill's was the last one on the left.
We crept forward, every step swallowed by the lush thickness of the carpet. Obviously, no one had told him shag pile had gone out of fashion with the Dark Ages.
There wasn't a whole lot of noise coming out of the bedroom. Daskill and his wife were obviously quiet types. Either that, or they'd finished - although the scent of lust and desire riding the air was increasing, not fading.
I glanced over my to brother and motioned to the other side of the double door frame. He nodded and moved past me, his movements a blur as he raced across the open space.
There was still no indication that Daskill and his missus had any idea something was wrong.
Rhoan raised three fingers and began counting them down. I got my laser out but didn't fire it up. The damn things were noisy and, in the hush surrounding us, would have been too obvious.
The last finger went down. We moved as one into the room, Rhoan going to the right and me to the left. Like everything else in the house, the bedroom was white and gold. The only spot of color was Daskill's ass, and the black and silver of the guns sitting on either bedside table.
Daskill really didn't like to take chances.
She saw us first, and her eyes went wide. As she opened her mouth to scream, I fired up the laser and heard its echo from the other side of the room.
"Bobby Daskill," I said, slipping my free hand into my pocket and withdrawing my ID. "You're under arrest on suspicion of murder. Please move away from your wife and stand with your hands up."
For the barest of moments, he froze. Then he did the stupidest thing possible and lunged for his weapon. I fired, as did Rhoan. The twin beams of light cut across the room, hitting Daskill's reaching hand. The smell of burning flesh stung the air as the lasers severed then cauterized the first three fingers on his left hand.
His screams joined his wife's. Rhoan glanced at me, his expression one of disgust as he shook his head and walked forward. That's when the wife moved. One minute she was screaming like a banshee, and the next she had a gun in her hand and was aiming it at Rhoan's head. There was no time for finesse. I simply shot.
I meant to get her hand, but she was moving too fast, and the beam took off her arm instead. Her severed limb plopped inelegantly to the bed, and the weapon - thanks to the fact that her finger was still curled around the trigger - fired. The bullet skimmed past Rhoan's nose and thudded into the wall behind him.
The wife went back to screaming. High-pitched, wailing sounds of horror, but I wasn't feeling any sympathy. Not when the bitch had just tried to kill my brother.
He glanced at me, blinking, the tip of his nose somewhat blackened. "Damn, that was close."
"Totally." I strode forward, grabbed Daskill by the scruff of his neck, and dragged his wobbly pink butt off the bed. "Bobby Daskill, consider yourself under arrest. Now get your scrawny ass down those stairs."
"But I'm naked - "
"Like I care." I pushed him toward the door, my finger still on the trigger and the laser whining ominously at his back.
Rhoan hauled the still-screaming woman up by her good arm, grabbed the sheet, and threw it roughly around her body. Then, with his hand still clamped around hers, he forced her to march forward.
We headed down the stairs, then outside. I couldn't sense Quinn near, but almost before I could form a question, his thoughts were flowing through my mind. I'm in the car. Things were getting a little warm, even with the protection of the sunscreen and the shade of the wall.
So do you brown or do you peel?
Brown. If a vampire burns, it usually results in the death of said vampire.
Well, I don't want you dead before I swear to you, so good move.
His laughter ran through my mind, warm and light.
Daskill had finally realized we were going out into the main street and balked as we neared the gate. But a hard nudge in the back with the laser soon put an end to that.
The two vans sat several houses away, one holding Jack and the banks of computers that were controlling Daskill's security system, and the other for the transfer of our prisoners.
The prisoner van door opened as we approached, and the stench of vampire wafted out. There were at least three guardians inside. Jack wasn't taking any chances.
We handed over our prisoners and stepped back as the door slammed shut. Even though the van was reinforced, I could still hear the wife's screaming as the vehicle took off.
"Well, that was almost easy," Rhoan said, sounding more than a little peeved.
"And it makes a nice change," I said, rubbing my arms. The time had come to talk to Jack, and I really wasn't looking forward to it.
I can - Quinn started.
No, I said firmly. This is for me to do.
"Riley, Rhoan," Jack said into my ear. "Go through Daskill's house and see what you can find. Another van is on the way to take care of the guards. They'll remain neutralized until then."
Meaning Quinn had messed with their minds and told them to stay. I pressed the little earpiece and said, "I need to talk to you first, boss."
He hesitated, then said, almost reluctantly, "Come on in, then."
Rhoan gave me a smile and a quick shoulder squeeze for support, then spun around on his heel and headed back to the house. I took a deep breath that did little to calm the twisting in my belly, then strode forward determinedly.
I slid open the van door, stepping inside and shutting it quickly so there was no risk of sunlight touching Jack. Not that it would have, given he was down at the far end of the van, sitting in front of a bank of monitors.
"What is it, Riley?" he said without looking up.
"I don't want to be a guardian anymore." I said it in a rush, because any other way and the words would have stuck in my throat.
He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands, crossing his fingers on the top of his head. There was little surprise in the green of his eyes.
"You can't leave the Directorate. The drugs are still affecting you, and we have no idea what direction the changes are likely to take."
That sick feeling in my stomach increased, rising up my throat and momentarily preventing me from breathing. It was all going to hell - all my hopes and dreams of walking away turning to ashes simply because I knew what he was saying was true. And yet, that stupid, stubborn part of me refused to give up. "But - "
"There are no buts on this," he said heavily. "We have no idea what might happen, and it's simply too dangerous for everyone around you to let you go unmonitored."
"There has to be some sort of middle ground, Jack." I said it softly, without the desperation burning through me.
"I've given up so many of my hopes and dreams in the last few years that I really don't want to give up any more. I want to live long enough to see my babies grow. And we both know that isn't going to happen if I remain a guardian."
"Riley," he said, voice gentle, "you were growing weary of being my assistant when you actually were. Now that you're a trained hunter, I very much doubt you could go back so easily to office work."