Page 136 of Dancing for the Minotaur

The operator nodded frantically.

Taurex removed his hand but kept the blaster firmly against the human’s neck.

“Where is Orlov?”

The male swallowed hard.

“Back office. End of the hall. He’s waiting for the stripper.”

The words sent another wave of Rage surging through Taurex, but he forced it down.

“Is anyone else in this apartment besides Orlov, the younglings and the males I have already encountered?”

The operator hesitated.

Taurex pressed the blaster harder into his skin.

“Tell the truth or you die.”

“No,” the human said quickly. “No, that’s it. Just us.”

“Good.”

Taurex looked once more at the monitors and saw the feed from Terra’s bungalow—saw the empty driveway and Lucy moving restlessly across the porch with a communication device pressed to her ear. The sight made his jaw tighten.

Orlov had not merely kidnapped Terra’s younglings—he had been studying the entire family, watching their movements, learning their routines and waiting for the precise moment when he could take what he wanted. There was something deeply diseased about such behavior, and Taurex had no doubt that if the Goddess had not intervened, Terra would have fallen into the trap.

He lowered the blaster slightly and struck the surveillance operator sharply behind the ear with the heavy butt of the weapon. The human male slumped forward over the controls without another sound.

Taurex checked his pulse—alive, though unconscious—and decided that was sufficient. The male had aided Orlov and deserved punishment, but there was no need to kill him when he no longer represented an immediate threat. Besides, Taurex wanted someone alive who could explain to the human authorities exactly what Orlov had done once Terra’s younglings were safe.

He stepped back into the hallway and moved toward the room at the end, careful to keep his movements silent despite his enormous size. The door was half-open, just as the operator had said, and warm light spilled into the corridor.

Taurex could hear movement inside—the faint clink of glass against glass, the rustle of cloth and the slow, irritated exhalation of a human male who apparently believed he was still completely in control of the situation.

Taurex paused outside the door and listened.

A communication device chimed inside.

“Still nothing?” a man muttered. There was another pause, then he spoke again. “Come on, Bunny. Don’t make me wait.”

Taurex’s fingers tightened around the blaster.

Bunny—that was what Terra said Orlov called her. So the man in the room had to be him.

He pushed the door open, leading with his blaster.

Viktor Orlov sat behind a broad black desk positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over downtown Tampa. He was exactly as Terra had described him—late middle age, expensive dark suit, slicked-back black hair broken by the distinctive white streak running along one side and pale gray eyes that seemed cold even before he lifted them toward Taurex. A glass of clear liquid sat beside one hand and Terra’s photograph lay on the desk in front of him, enlarged from one of the surveillance images.

For the briefest moment, surprise crossed Orlov’s face. Then it vanished.

“Well,” he said slowly. “The bull.”

Taurex entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Orlov’s eyes moved toward the blaster in his hand.

“You’re a long way from your penthouse, Bull,” he said tauntingly.