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“Where was she planning to go after the club, Vonda?”
Her eyes rolled back into her head and a small sigh escaped her lips. She was leaving us. I shook her again. “Damn it, Vonda! Who was your sister planning to meet? Where did she plan to go after the club?”
“Hartwell,” she murmured. “Zane . . .”
Her words faded away and her head rolled back. Azriel touched my shoulder, but it was a warning I didn’t need. I released her and closed my eyes. She was gone, and I really didn’t want to see the reaper who’d come for her. Didn’t want to see her soul—and any real chance we had of saving her sister—rise and walk away.
Rhoan squatted beside me and pressed two fingers against her neck. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Hartwell and Zane aren’t much to go on, either.”
“It’s better than what we had, and at least we now know the reason behind the forehead branding.” His gaze met mine grimly. “I’ve called in a cleanup team. We’ll sort out the father and son, and go through the sister’s room—maybe we’ll find something to clarify what she meant.”
“We only have an hour.” I rose and rubbed my arms. “Do you know what a Kudlak is?”
“No, but I will soon enough.” He eyed me thoughtfully. “Did you catch the name of the club?”
If he was asking that, it meant the mike on the earpieces hadn’t been strong enough to catch Vonda’s whispered reply, and for that I was suddenly grateful. “I think it was Red something or other, but I couldn’t guarantee it.”
“We’ll run a scan and see if we can find anything that matches.” He thrust a hand through his short hair. “Can you hang around, just in case we find something?”
“I’ll wait outside, where it’s warmer.” I paused. “Does Dani look like her sister?”
He nodded. “They’re identical twins.”
Which might explain our killer’s statement that he’d never come across two such as these before. Identical twins who were also blood-whore-addicted vampires surely had to be a rarity.
Rhoan walked out. I pressed the left ear stud to deactivate the earrings, then headed back across the road to watch the sudden influx of Directorate people from a safe distance.
“Why did you not tell him about the club?” Azriel asked as he sat down beside me.
“Because of Hunter. I’m not going to risk giving him information that may well get him killed.”
“But it may help solve the case.”
“It may. Which is why I’ll ring Hunter myself and ask.” It wasn’t something I really wanted to do, as I was rather enjoying the brief respite from her overbearing presence in my life.
I dragged out my vid-phone, said, “Hunter,” and watched the psychedelic patterns swirl across the screen as the phone made the connection.
“Risa,” she drawled. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Considering you’ve got Cazadors following me around reporting every little twitch, I seriously doubt that it’s either a surprise or lovely.”
Amusement gleamed in her cold green eyes. “They do not report every little twitch—although Markel is more circumspect than some.”
Which wasn’t something I wanted to hear. With some trepidation, I asked, “Just how detailed do the others get?”
She gave me that smile—the one that reminded me of a shark about to consume its prey. My stomach sank. Obviously, they followed where Markel did not—and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, which was infuriating.
“Then you already know why I’m ringing now.”
“Yes.” She paused. “You were wise not to mention your knowledge of the clubs. Rhoan is an asset the Directorate would not like to lose.”
I bet she was an asset the Directorate wouldn’t like to lose, either, but I sure as hell hoped that one day, it would. In fact, the sooner the better.
“Is there a club called the Crimson Dive?”
“It’s Dove, not Dive.” She paused. “I’ve rung the manager, and both Vonda and Dani Belmore are members. As were the other victims.”
