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"The kidnapping was a ploy," Hunter said, putting the pieces together. It made logical sense now, the unprovoked attack on the civilians that had taken place over the course of the last week. "Dragos had to ensure the Order was sympathetic to the boy, so he killed his family and razed their Darkhaven. The youth needed to be isolated, leaving little choice but for the Order to take him into its protection."
"We walked right into it," Lucan remarked tightly. "I made the decision to break with protocol and bring the boy into the compound. Hell, I might as well have opened the goddamn door to Dragos and invited him inside."
Hunter had never heard regret from Lucan. If the Gen One elder ever had doubts, he'd not aired them to Hunter before now. That he did so only emphasized the seriousness of the situation.
"I know how Dragos operates," Hunter said. "I've seen the way he thinks, how he strategizes. The Archer youth has been in the compound for more than a couple of days - "
"Seventy-two hours," Lucan interjected.
Hunter had felt Corinne's gaze on him with the mention of Dragos's name. She listened quietly now, her pretty face stricken, bathed in greenish light from the dashboard of the idling sedan. Hunter could feel her dread like a chill as he continued speaking with Lucan. "Dragos had to know the device could not go undetected for very long. He will have already begun organizing for an attack, even before he put his ruse into motion. When he attacks, he will come at the compound in a way that will ensure the greatest damage to the Order."
"He's out for blood," Lucan replied. "My blood."
"Yes." Hunter knew from his time serving the power-crazed Dragos that this battle between him and the Order had turned into something personal. Dragos would seek to annihilate the obstacle standing in the way of his goals, but his rage would compel him to do it in a way that would inflict the deepest pain on Lucan Thorne and those under his charge. The Boston compound was safe for no one now, but there was no need for Hunter to say it. Lucan knew. His sober voice reverberated with the gravity of the situation, but his heavy silence was even more telling.
"There have been complications with my mission in Detroit," Hunter told him, a report that was answered with a deep, ripe curse. He gave Lucan a rundown of what had happened at the Darkhaven with Corinne and her family, from the suspicion he had that Victor Bishop was hiding something, to the revelation that had left Corinne's future in limbo but had netted the Order what could possibly be a lead on one of Dragos's past associates.
"Henry Vachon," Lucan said, testing the name Regina Bishop had given them. "I don't know him, but I'm sure Gideon can track the bastard down. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how important it is for us to exploit any lead on Dragos that we can."
"Of course," Hunter agreed.
"I'll have Gideon run an IID search for Vachon and get back to you with what we find. You should have intel within the hour," Lucan said. "What about Corinne? Is she still with you?"
"Yes," Hunter replied, glancing at her as he spoke. "She is with me in the car right now."
Lucan grunted. "Good. I want you to keep her close. As long as we're in chaos here at the compound, it's not a good idea for either one of you to come back right now."
Hunter scowled, still looking at Corinne's questioning face. "You're putting the female in my custody?"
"For the time being, I can't think of anywhere safer for her to be."
Despite the bad news that had hit the Order earlier that night, Lucan hadn't called off any of the assigned patrols. If anything, the mood around the compound had been stepped up a notch. Or twenty.
To Dante, it seemed as though the countdown clock on a time bomb had been activated in that instant Kellan Archer had coughed up Dragos's tracking device. Everyone understood what it meant, and the anticipation of trouble on the horizon - the expectation of it slamming into them at any moment - had left no one unscathed.
But dread and inaction wouldn't stop the coming storm. They had to get more aggressive, plumb every corner, turn every stone, if it meant bringing them even one inch closer to getting their hands on Dragos. He had to be located, and he had to be stopped - now more than ever. That rationale, and the fury that followed on its heels, was the only thing that had given Dante the strength to leave Tess's side and go out on patrol with Kade that night. His heart was back at the compound, but his head was fully in the game, looking for even the most remote leads on the escaped Agent, Murdock, the presence of Dragos's assassins in the city ... anything at all.
And all night, part of him had been keeping an eye out for leads of another sort too.
"Hold up," he said to Kade, who'd just turned the Rover onto a seedy stretch of road down by the Mystic in Southie. "Did you see that guy over there?"
Kade slowed the black SUV and peered in the direction Dante was pointing. "I don't see anyone, other than a couple of overaged streetwalkers with a fondness for Lucite heels and Forever Twenty-One fashion. Classy."
Dante was unable to share the other warrior's humor even though he had a valid point about the hookers trawling the corner at the other end of the block.
"I think it might have been Harvard," he said, all but certain that the large shadowy figure that had disappeared around the other side of an old brick warehouse had been Breed. And by the way the male moved, the way he carried himself, even as he slunk into the gloom of the ratty industrial block, Dante was more than willing to bet it was Sterling Chase. "Stop the car."
"Even if it was Harvard, I don't think this is a good idea, man - "
"Fuck what you think," Dante snapped, concern for his AWOL friend trumping everything else. "Pull over, Kade. I'm getting out."
He didn't wait for the vehicle to cease rolling. He jumped out and started jogging toward the place he'd watched the vampire go. Kade was right behind him, cursing low under his breath, but prepared to have his back regardless.
They rounded the edge of the brick warehouse and found themselves staring at a low-rent rail yard just ahead. A line of orphaned boxcars sat on one set of tracks, the side of one rusted, graffiti-tagged car wedged open just wide enough for someone to squeeze past. A group of humans stood nearby, gathered around a metal drum that glowed and sparked from the rubbish burning deep inside it. They warmed their hands over the container, passing a small crack pipe to one another.
The stoners hardly looked up as Dante and Kade strode past them. Their faces were hollow, ghostly. They stank of narcotics, booze, and rotted clothing. Their hair was filthy, bodies ripe with the stench of the unwashed. Glazed eyes stared off unfocused, their minds decayed, lost to the seductive grasp of their addictions.
"Jesus Christ," Kade hissed, disgusted. "If Chase is slumming around down here in this shithole, he must really be fucked up."
