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Did Sloan’s plants know much?
I’m not sure, replied Knox, his telepathic tone edged with irritation. They killed each other before either could speak.
Tanner blinked. They what?
It must have been a suicide pact, or maybe Sloan ordered them to die rather than pass on any information.
They obviously didn’t trust that they could hold out against any pain you dealt them. As the traffic light turned green, Tanner switched gears and drove forward. He wasn’t far from Lockwood’s office building, where Jolene might already be waiting with Ciaran. He knew that Devon hadn’t yet arrived there, or Enzo would have notified Tanner by now—just as he’d notified him of every move that she’d made that morning since leaving her apartment.
Someone silenced Harry and Dale, said Knox, but there’s nothing to suggest it was Colm, or even that it was someone who worked for Sloan. This may have nothing to do with the other Prime.
Tanner twisted his mouth. Muriel insisted that her brother and Harry weren’t in contact, but Dale was real protective of her; if he and Harry were involved in something that could have endangered her, Dale would have kept it from her.
True. It’s not a coincidence that he and Harry were killed in the exact same manner—I’m sticking with our theory that they both knew something they weren’t supposed to know.
Or someone is targeting people from Ramsbrook. I can’t think why anyone would, but it’s possible.
If that were the case, there’d be more bodies. So far, only Harry and Dale … Knox trailed off, and there was a long pause. My meeting is about to start. We’ll talk again later. Let me know how things go with Lockwood. If he’s uncooperative, bring him to my Chamber.
Will do. If the array of torturous machines and sharp implements couldn’t convince Lockwood to part with what he knew, nothing would.
Tanner telepathically reached out to Enzo. Has Devon left the gas station yet?
She just went inside to pay, Enzo replied. I’ll let you know the second she makes a move. Enzo didn’t add, Just as I’ve done since this morning, but Tanner heard it in his tone.
Did Tanner need to check in with the other male so often? No. But having someone watch over her didn’t give Tanner the reassurance that it should have done, because it meant trusting someone else’s eyes and ears and instincts with something as important as her safety. That wasn’t so easy to do. Especially now that he knew the person who wanted her wasn’t deterred by their past lack of success or by his mark on her palm.
Rolling back his shoulders, he relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel. She had four people tailing her, he reminded himself. Four people watching not only her but her surroundings, ready to act upon the slightest hint of a threat. And yet, he couldn’t help worrying about her.
His frustration mounted with each hour that passed when the cloud of danger continued to color her life. It might not have been so hard to stop obsessing over it if Tanner felt close to unearthing the identity of the bastard who wanted her, but he was utterly fucking clueless. He was a hellhound; hunting was in his blood. But his superior tracking senses didn’t help much when dealing with someone who was speaking through others.
No matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his mind just kept turning back to the mystery again and again. He’d been unable to concentrate during his meeting with the other sentinels earlier. He’d found himself sitting there, drumming his fingers on his thigh, his muscles cramping with the strain of fighting the urge to pace with the restlessness that gnawed at him.
The matter of Harry and Dale’s sickening deaths deserved a lot more mental space than he’d been giving them. He’d known them since they were small children; they’d looked out for each other at Ramsbrook; had been through tough times together. He’d only known Devon a handful of years, and yet she was dominating his thoughts.
But then, Devon had always had a way of slipping into his mind and fucking with his focus. Nobody had ever snagged his sole attention the way she did. Nobody. And he had the unshakable sense that no one else ever would. His thoughts always strayed back to her … just as they’d done now.
He swore. Honestly, he was fucking hopeless. If he wasn’t obsessing over the threat to her safety, he was obsessing over her. Over her taste and scent and how good it had felt to be inside her—he’d fantasized about it for so very long that it simply wasn’t possible to put it aside. She had a hold over him that he didn’t like. A hold she couldn’t be aware of, or she’d never have believed him capable of coldly using her.
