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“Talk to me.”
“The van is registered to Benito’s Meatpackers, one of the few meatpackers that remain in the city. That company has been around since the nineteen forties. We’re still peeling back the layers of shell companies to see who it belongs to. My people tracked the van to a storage warehouse.” He gave the address. “I’ll contact you when I have more.”
Devlin plugged the address into his GPS. It was ten minutes away. The traffic thinned and he put his foot down on the gas pedal.
Chapter Twenty-One
Pain reverberated through Zoe’s head, like someone was inside with a jackhammer trying to blast their way out.
She swallowed back a groan, some instinct warning her to stay silent. Her right arm was bent at an awkward angle, but she didn’t dare move it. Keeping her breathing as even as possible—not an easy feat with fear ripping through her—she listened.
Where were her captors? Where the hell was she? And where was Devlin?
He was alive, he had to be. Whoever had masterminded all this would want him alive. Right?
“You may as well open your eyes, my dear. I know you’re awake.” The voice was cultured and tinged with amusement.
She allowed her eyelids to flutter open, wincing when the light hit. Her stomach churned. The world went blurry, forcing her to blink several times. She likely had a concussion from the blow to the head.
Hands still cuffed, she put them on the floor and pushed herself into a seated position. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. She clenched her jaw against the pain. No way was she facing this guy sprawled out on the floor at his feet.
Standing was expecting too much. Fortunately, she was next to a wall and leaned against it. The space was empty and surprisingly clean. The floor was concrete. Industrial lighting hung from exposed metal beams. There was nothing to give the slightest hint as to where she might be.
The single piece of furniture was a plain wooden chair, currently occupied. One leg crossed over the over, the man leaned back, hands resting on his abdomen. The crisp white shirt he wore under an expensive-looking dark gray suit was open at the neck. Gold winked from the watch on his wrist and a ring on his finger. His full head of dark hair was cropped short and liberally sprinkled with silver at the temples. He gave the appearance of wealth and power. When he canted his head to the left, the light caught and reflected his eyes. Not human. Werewolf.
Swallowing heavily, she unflinchingly met his gaze. His lips turned into a genuine smile.
“I have to say, Ms. Galvani, you have exceeded expectations. You’ve put me to a lot of trouble and expense. Cost me good men.”
“Who—” She winced, her throat sore and bruised from being strangled. “Who are you?”
“I’m the architect of all this. Both you and Devlin are my creations.”
“Our creations.” A stunning woman with flaming red hair, witchy green eyes, and golden skin entered the room. The air crackled. Every fine hair on Zoe’s body rose. Some instinct warned this woman was as dangerous, if not more so, than the man.
“Of course, my dear.” He made no move to stand or offer the newcomer the chair.
The woman sauntered over to stand beside him, resting a possessive hand on his shoulder. The black pants and jacket she wore were tailored to her curvy body. Unlike him, it didn’t look like she was wearing anything beneath the jacket. Her hands were slender, the long nails sporting blood-red polish. A huge ruby pendant was threaded through a thick gold chain and rested at the base of her throat.
“This is Solange Dupree, the finest mage the world has ever known.”
“Thank you, darling.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his temple.
“It’s no more than the truth.”
Were these two for real? “Who are you? Why am I here? And where is here?” All her life, she’d studied people. These two were full of their own self-importance, entitled, and powerful. That they had money wasn’t in question. The way they were dressed, added to the sheer scope and scale of their operation, screamed wealth. And if experience had taught her anything it was that people like this loved to talk about themselves.
All amusement fled and the man leaned forward. “I am Charles Armstrong. Or that’s my current name. I’ve had several throughout the course of my long life. And you’re here because I wanted you here. It’s time you served your purpose.”
A sick feeling flooded her. She slowly opened and closed her hands and flexed the muscles in her arms and legs, trying to work out any stiffness. If she got an opportunity to escape, she had to be ready to take it. “And what purpose is that?” In her heart, she already knew his answer.
“Why, to bring the white wolf to his knees.”
It took every ounce of skill she possessed not to flinch. Instead, she forced herself to smile. “Good luck with that.” She worked up a chuckle. “You honestly don’t expect him to come for me, do you? The man is cold to the bone.” It was a lie, of course. Even now, he’d be scouring the streets, using every asset at his disposal to find her, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Liar,” he roared. Fangs dropped and his eyes glowed. For a second, a wolf’s face superimposed itself on his. Then he pulled himself back under control and smiled. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. Her heart was racing, and she was sweating. He knew it, too. There was no way she could hide her physical reactions from him, not with his preternatural senses.
