CHAPTER 10

The blast was so intense it sent us both tumbling. I ended up halfway under a nearby SUV and drew my body into a tight ball as bits of wood, metal, and god knows what else speared all around me. The SUV took the brunt of the debris, but the twinges of pain in my spine told me I hadn’t escaped unscathed.

Heat quickly followed, and with it came the roar of flames—although I would have thought that after the power of such a blast there’d be little left to burn.

I twisted around, looking for Jackson, and spotted him half kneeling behind the driver’s side rear wheel.

“I’m okay,” he said, “but I’m guessing Janice won’t be.”

I looked over at the house. Though the air was thick with dust and smoke, it didn’t do much to hide the devastation. The house was one huge pile of debris. Only one exterior rear wall remained upright, and flames were already beginning to consume that. Metal carport supports were embedded in one neighbor’s wall and holes were punched into his roof, and Janice’s little Honda was now sitting in the same neighbor’s yard, on its back and on fire. The house on the other side had enough blast damage to expose the front interior wall, and the fence between the two properties was on fire.

I climbed out from under the SUV, then pulled off my jacket and shook it free of rubbish. “Amanda—or someone else in Rinaldo’s employ—obviously came back to finish what she’d started.”

“Yeah.” Jackson stopped beside me, his expression glum. There were scratches on his face, a chunk taken out of his chin, and his jeans were torn and somewhat bloody. But all in all, there wasn’t much damage, considering how close we’d been.

“I’ll ring PIT,” he said. “You want to douse those flames and see if you can spot anything in the mess?”

“I’m not sure the police or even PIT will appreciate us contaminating a crime scene.” And there wasn’t much left to find—not without carefully sifting through that pile of remnants, anyway.

“I’m not really caring what they think right now.” His voice held an angry edge. “Not when they could have kept Janice safe and didn’t.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Jackson. They do have bigger problems right now.” Not to mention a lack of staff to cope with it all. As priorities went, it wasn’t really surprising Janice had been low on the list.

“Except Janice may have been the key they needed,” he said. “Rinaldo obviously feared she could tell us something, given he came back for a second shot at her.”

Which was true enough. I glanced around at the sound of approaching footsteps and spotted a number of people hurrying down the street toward us. There was no reaction or movement from whoever owned the houses on either side of Janice’s. They were going to get one hell of a surprise when they returned from wherever they were.

“Go,” Jackson said. “I’ll stop those people from coming too close.”

As he strode toward them, I headed for the broken front gate and lifted my right hand, as if warding off the heat of the fire consuming the little car. The flames flared briefly, as if in protest to my drawing the heat from them, then quickly faded until only the pungent smell of burned rubber remained. I turned my attention to the fire biting through both the remnants of the rear wall and the dividing fence. Its heat swirled around me, through me, and I briefly closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation before I drew it in and snuffed out the flames.

But that enjoyment had come at the cost of a life. Rinaldo, I thought grimly, was going to pay for all these deaths. One way or another, no matter how long I had to fruitlessly search for the bastard, I was going to make sure of that.

The fires had now disappeared, but I had no idea if any other threat remained. I stopped several feet away from the area where the front door had once been and surveyed the huge pile of rubbish—all that remained of the house and the person who’d lived here.

I couldn’t go into that. I wouldn’t. I’d seen death in many disguises, but if there was anything left of Janice beyond a splash of blood or the shredded remnants of flesh, then I didn’t want to be the one to find it.

I spun around and walked across to Janice’s Honda instead. Aside from the melted tires and the dents and scrapes that were a result of being tossed through the fence, the car had actually come through relatively intact—at least when compared to the house.

I knelt down and peered in through the driver’s side window. Heat still radiated from the front portion of the car, but there was no scent of leaking fuel; hopefully, the thing wouldn’t blow up in my face.

There didn’t seem to be much more than the usual assortment of rubbish and clothing that accumulated inside cars over time, but I nevertheless tugged my sleeve over my hand and—after a bit of a tussle—wrenched the door open.

“You’re worried about leaving fingerprints?”

The unexpected comment made me jump. I swung around and slapped Jackson’s arm. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry.” He sounded—and looked—anything but. “The question stands, however.”

“The handle was hot, and we’re being watched.” I looked pointedly at the gathering crowd. He might have managed to keep them at a distance, but some of them had cameras, and there would no doubt be videos posted on YouTube sooner rather than later.

“The handle wasn’t glowing with heat, so no one would have given two thoughts about your opening it with bare hands.”

“I’d still rather be safe than sorry, thanks.”

I ducked down, then crawled inside the car. There wasn’t a whole lot of space, but that was more because it was a small car than because it was upside down. I opened the glove compartment, and papers, tissues, and the car’s service book all fell out. I gathered the papers and handed them to Jackson, then checked the storage bin in the center console. Small change, phone chargers, and candy wrappers joined the rest of the rubbish on the floor—or rather, the roof. I swept a hand under the driver’s seat but couldn’t find anything, repeated the process for the passenger’s seat, then twisted around and began sifting through the mess that had come from the backseat. It appeared that Janice shared our love for McDonald’s—most of the rubbish consisted of their coffee cups and the occasional hot apple pie wrapper.

“Anything interesting in all that paperwork?” I asked Jackson. I ran my hands around the sides of the seats, just in case something had been jammed between them and the console.

“Nothing more than service receipts and registration papers going back a couple of years.” He paused as the wail of sirens began to get louder. “We don’t have much longer.”

“No.” Something pricked my finger. I swore and wrenched it free. Whatever it was had drawn blood, even if it was little more than a fine droplet.

“You okay?” Jackson squatted in front of the door.

“Yeah, something just stabbed my finger.” I sucked the blood from it and peered a little closer, but couldn’t immediately see anything sharp.

“Approach it from under the seat,” Jackson suggested.

“I did that before and didn’t find anything.” I teased a bit of flame to a fingertip and pushed the seat cushion with my other hand, creating more of a gap. Something small and metallic gleamed back at me.

“It’s a pin of some sort.”

I carefully reached down and pried it free. It was one of those pin-on plastic name-tag things companies gave short-term visitors. This one read just that—VISITOR—along with a company name: HOLDRIGHT INDUSTRIES. The name, for some reason, rang a bell.

I handed the name tag to Jackson, then crawled out of the car. “Never heard of the company,” he said, helping me up.

“I have, but I can’t tell you where or why.” I glanced around as a police car pulled up. “And the fun begins.”

“At least we now have PIT badges to speed up the process.” He pocketed the name tag. “Do you want to put Google to use while I go talk to the cops?”

I nodded and dragged out my phone. Holdright Industries, I soon discovered, made industrial shelving and racking. I didn’t really know the difference between the two, but obviously there was one.

But the real question was, why would Rosen’s secretary have that badge in her car? Even if Rosen’s company did use either the shelving or the racking, it was unlikely Janice had gone out there personally to arrange quotes. She would have simply sent a purchase order to their office supplies department.

Which meant we probably needed to contact Rosen Pharmaceuticals and talk to someone who might give us some insight—either on Holdright Industries or as to why Janice might have had the badge.

A police officer approached. I shoved my phone away and resigned myself to answering his questions. Jackson had no doubt already made a statement, but I couldn’t complain about cops being thorough. The fire brigade and the ambulance soon appeared, with the ambulance paramedics giving Jackson and me a quick check-over before declaring us both okay.

It was a good half hour before we managed to get away; by that time, I seriously needed a caffeine hit.

“I noticed our favorite café has a franchise not far away on Plenty Road.” His tone was amused. “We can grab something to go from there. Any luck on the Googling front?”

“I learned Holdright Industries makes industrial shelving.”

“It didn’t jog any memories loose?”

“Not a one. I guess our best option now is to go talk to Rosen Pharmaceuticals—but not before I have tea in hand.”

“I wouldn’t even dare suggest otherwise.”

“Wise man.”

He grinned and, in very short order, we not only had our hot beverages in hand, but also a large fries to share as we drove across to Power Street, where Rosen’s company was located. It was a rather plain-looking four-story building with a café on one side of the ground floor and a lawyer’s office on the other. The entrance to the building sat between the two.

There was no parking allowed on the street immediately outside the building, so Jackson turned onto Lynch Street and found a spot there. I drained the last bit of tea from the cup, then jumped out of the car and followed him across the busy road.

The building’s glass doors swished open as we approached, revealing a small, somewhat dark foyer. There was a bank of elevators to our immediate left, and I spotted two armed security guards, one near the elevators and the other near what I presumed was a rear entrance, possibly the loading dock. A reception desk was in the middle of the foyer, with a small seating area to the right.

A rather handsome middle-aged blonde glanced up from her computer as we approached the desk, and gave us a polite smile. “Welcome to Rosen Pharmaceuticals. How may I help you?”

“We need to talk to whoever handles the purchase of storage and shelving units.” Jackson pulled out his PIT badge and showed it to her.

“That badge,” she said, “says ‘associate.’ I do not believe it has power of investigation—”

“And you would be wrong,” Jackson said, his tone as polite as hers. “However, if you wish to check our authority, you can give PIT a call—the person you’ll need to talk to is Chief Inspector Richmond.”

“I’ll have to discuss this with someone in management. Please take a seat—I shouldn’t be long.”

“A woman immune to your charms,” I murmured as we walked over to the waiting area. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Neither did I. What’s more interesting, however, is that they’ve seriously ramped up security.” He motioned toward the two security officers. “That’s the first time they’ve had armed guards in the foyer.”

“It’s not really a surprising step, given research was stolen and Wilson, Rosen, and now Janice were murdered.”

“True—although they surely wouldn’t know about Janice’s murder yet.” He sat down and crossed his legs, his expression contemplative as he studied the blonde. “I might have to come back when all this is over. I do so like a challenge.”

“Seriously, haven’t you got enough women to deal with already?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about anything serious. A simple flirtation lasting no more than a night or so will do.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand the sexual drive of a dark fae.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” he said easily. “We simply live for sex.”

The woman in question replaced the receiver and gave us another of those polite smiles. “Brad Jenson will be down to assist you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said, his tone warm. There was little response from the blonde.

I grinned and leaned back in my chair. About five minutes later, a chime sounded as an elevator arrived; then a tall, thin man with receding brown hair strode toward us.

“Brad Jenson,” he said. “How may I help you both?”

As he propped himself on the sofa beside me, I caught a whiff of garlic and tuna—lunch, obviously.

“Are you in charge of ordering storage and shelving items?” I asked.

He nodded. “Rosen Pharmaceuticals is a large company, and we have a range of suppliers—why?”

“Is one of the companies you deal with Holdright Industries?”

“No—they specialize in the manufacture of warehouse storage rather than stuff suitable for our needs.”

I frowned. “So there’d be no work-related reason why Janice Green would have a visitor tag from them in her car?”

His expression became somewhat perturbed. “Janice Green is our founder’s secretary, so certainly not.”

I glanced at Jackson. Maybe she knew someone who worked there?

Possibly. He paused. We might have to go through her phone and do a check of all the numbers.

Tedious. And it was extremely doubtful we’d find anything, given Amanda had deleted at least one number—her alias’s—from Janice’s phone.

Amanda—and Rinaldo—will make a mistake sooner or later, Jackson said.

I hoped he was right, but I wasn’t counting on it.

“Is Janice in some sort of trouble?” Brad asked, his gaze darting between the two of us.

Jackson glanced at me, and I blew out a breath. “How well did you know her?”

“Only casually, via work functions and the like.” He paused. “‘Did’? Has something happened to her?”

“I’m afraid she was murdered this morning.” And, I silently sent to Jackson, why is it always the woman who has to give the bad news?

In this case, because you’re prettier than me, meaning he’s less likely to take it badly.

I’m sure there’s logic in that statement somewhere.

Brad scraped a hand through what little hair he had. “Shit. How did it happen?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say anything more right now,” I said. “But you can’t think of a reason why she might have visited Holdright?”

“Not officially, no.”

“And unofficially?”

“I didn’t know her that well, so I couldn’t say.”

I grimaced and stood up. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Jenson.”

Jackson handed him a business card. “If you do think of anything, please contact us.”

He glanced at the card and frowned. “I thought you were PIT officers?”

“We’re temporary ones—we’ve been seconded onto the current investigation.”

“Ah.” He pocketed the card. “I hope you catch her killer.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a smile, then headed out. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

“It wasn’t, because we’ve at least ruled out the possibility she was there on official business.”

“Which still leaves us down a rabbit hole with no exit in sight,” I said.

“True.” He paused while we dashed across the road. “Do you need to go see Rory?”

“Not until tomorrow. Why?”

“Because I think we have two courses of action right now—we continue the fruitless search for a lock to fit that second key we found at Wilson’s place, or we go back to the office and share the odious duty of going through Janice’s phone and checking all the numbers.” He unlocked the car, and we both climbed in. “Of course, it might be a whole lot easier if your memory would come to the party with the information of where you’d seen that name before.”

“Undoubtedly, but until that happens, there is a third choice.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That being?”

“A choice piece of work called Amanda. You did find her apartment, did you not?”

“I did indeed, and I think that’s a very fine suggestion.” He gave the satnav an address in Docklands, then pulled out into the traffic. “And I seriously hope the bitch is home—taking out another of Rinaldo’s soldiers can only work in our favor.”

“With Frederick’s disappearance, he more than likely has her under some sort of protection.”

“Only if he believes we know her location, and why would he think that when we’ve lost her every damn time we’ve spotted her?”

I didn’t think he’d be that careless after his close shave at the warehouse. He’d have known the information about his location could only have come from Frederick. Still, even if Amanda wasn’t at the apartment, we could search it. While it was likely Rinaldo already had any information she’d gathered, it was also possible he hadn’t had the opportunity to collect whatever she’d gotten from Janice more recently.

If she’d gotten anything and wasn’t just covering her tracks.

Jackson found a parking spot on Bourke Street, and we walked through to Amanda’s building, which fronted the Victoria Harbour Promenade. The building itself was a glass and concrete structure with large balconies that overlooked not only the harbor, but also the Bolte Bridge and the Melbourne Star Observation Wheel. The first two levels seemed to consist of nothing more than restaurants and pool and gym facilities for the residents—none of which the apartment building Rory and I shared had. Maybe we should move . . . I killed that thought almost immediately. Moving would mean pulling apart the fire room we’d created in the third bedroom and restoring it to its original condition, and that just sounded like too much hard work.

We walked into the foyer and approached the reception desk. Jackson flashed his badge again, but the guard waved his hand. “Remember you from yesterday. What can I do for you now?”

“I’m afraid we need to get into Felicity Hocking’s apartment.”

He frowned. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

“Not if we think she’s in danger,” Jackson replied easily. “Her lover was murdered yesterday. We have every reason to believe she may also be in danger.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Listen, Mike,” I said, glancing at his nameplate. “We’ll sign in, and we’ll give you the name of our boss so you can confirm we are who we say we are, but we seriously need to get into that apartment.”

He hesitated, then said, “I’ll call the supervisor down. He has the master keys, in case of emergencies.”

In other words, he was passing the decision-making buck. Couldn’t blame him for that. “Tell him to hurry.”

He nodded and made the call. Three minutes later, a well-built, dark-skinned man strode into the foyer, followed by two others—one male, the other female. Both projected a “Don’t mess with me” vibe, and all three were armed.

“You’re the PIT officers?” the first man said. According to his badge, his name was Gale. Whether that was a first name, last name, or some sort of warning was anyone’s guess.

Jackson offered up his badge again. “We’re associate officers, seconded to investigate the murder of one Janice Green—Felicity Hocking’s lover.”

“And you need to get into her apartment—”

“Because we feel she may be in danger,” I repeated. “It is rather urgent, so if we could move this along, we’d appreciate it.”

The supervisor grunted. “Give Mike your boss’s contact details—I hope you don’t mind, but we are going to check your credentials. And if you’re carrying any weapons, leave them at the desk.”

“We’re associates—sadly, they won’t give us guns.”

Because there’s a real need for either of us to have guns, Jackson said, his mental tone wry.

I gave him “the look.” His grin grew. Once I handed the guard the information, he did the required check, then handed me the phone.

“What is this about, Emberly?” the inspector said.

“We’re at Felicity Hocking’s apartment, just about to check on her.”

“Felicity Hocking aka Amanda Wilson?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent work. Do you need backup?”

“Is there anyone available to help if we did?”

“Given the number of times you’ve both been attacked and left without your main weapons, as well as the quality of the information you’ve been retrieving, we’d find them.”

Which was nice to know. “I think we’re all right for now.”

“Keep in contact.”

She hung up, and I handed the phone back to the security guard. “They check out,” he said.

Gale nodded, dismissed his two people, then said, “Follow me, please.”

We headed up to the eighth floor and walked along the wide corridor until we reached a door situated near the building’s corners. The views, I thought, would be outstanding.

He knocked on the door and said, “Ms. Hocking? Security here. We need to talk to you.”

There was no answer. After a second try, he swiped his card through the reader to the right of the door and opened it. “I’ll remain here,” he said, and stepped to one side.

The longish corridor that confronted us led to what I presumed was the living area. The hallway itself was rather bland—cool gray walls, white ceiling, and little in the way of embellishment. Maybe that was the whole point, because the view from the windows in the living area was certainly spectacular if the bit I could see was anything to go by.

“You take the door on the right. I’ll take the one on the left,” Jackson said.

I nodded and headed down the hall. The plush gray carpet swallowed any sound our footsteps made, and the place was eerily quiet. There was little in the way of scents in the air, which suggested Amanda didn’t spend a whole lot of time here.

I carefully opened the door. Like the corridor, the room—a bedroom—was a soft gray with white accents. The wall to my right was lined with built-in wardrobes, and there was an en suite to my left. A bed and a couple of bedside tables were the only furniture in the room.

Amanda lay fully clothed on the bed.

Not in it. On it.

And if she was breathing, I wasn’t seeing it.

Jackson, in here, I said telepathically, to avoid alerting Gale I’d found her.

I walked over and felt for a pulse. It was so slow, it could have been a vampire’s. I lifted an eyelid. Her pupils reacted to the light, but she didn’t stir.

She dead? Jackson came into the room and stopped beside me.

No. Unconscious.

It’s more likely she’s been placed into a hibernated state until Rinaldo has another mission for her.

He could have at least allowed her to undress and be comfortable.

I don’t think the comfort of others is all that high on Rinaldo’s list of priorities. Jackson’s tone was wry. We should probably use the time to search her apartment. I doubt she’ll cooperate when she wakes.

She can’t, not if Rinaldo has control of her mind. I hesitated, my gaze sweeping her length. Though there’d been no movement, no sign that she was, in any way, stirring, a sense of foreboding was beginning to pulse through me.

“I think we’d better—”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence, but that sense of foreboding sharpened abruptly. I spun around to see Gale standing at the door, his weapon out and aimed at the two of us.

He was going to shoot.

Amanda was awake, all right, and controlling him.

I swore, knocked Jackson out of the way, then flung a line of fire toward the gun and ripped it from the guard’s grip. It discharged as I did so, the bullet digging into the wall above the bed rather than into either of us. Quicker than a rattlesnake, Amanda was up and running. She didn’t get far—Jackson flung out one leg, caught hers, and brought her to a crashing halt face-first onto the carpet.

The security guard immediately threw himself at Jackson. As the two men fought—with Jackson trying to stop the guard rather than hurt him—I flung myself at Amanda, landing on her back just as she was trying to scramble upright. She went down with a grunt and swore violently at me. I grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked her head back, then wrapped a ribbon of flame around her throat, blistering her skin rather than totally severing her neck, as part of me longed to. And it wasn’t even the vicious part of me.

“Release him now,” I growled, “or I will burn off your face.”

She hissed, and then said, “Was the death of Shona and the two werewolves assigned to protect her demonstration not enough for you, Ms. Pearson?”

I blinked. Though the voice was Amanda’s, the pronunciation definitely wasn’t.

“I’m going to fucking kill you for doing that, Rinaldo.”

“You were warned, were you not? You failed to live up to our agreement—”

“It was hardly a fucking agreement,” I bit back. “And it doesn’t change the fact you are a dead man walking.”

“Technically, all vampires are.” His amusement ran through Amanda’s tone. “And it doesn’t change the fact you were warned to contact me nightly and you did not. Those deaths are on your conscience, not mine.”

He was right; they were. But better three lives than the hundreds—thousands—that might die if Rinaldo ever got his hands on all the virus information. I didn’t know why he wanted it, and I didn’t care; I just knew I would do whatever it took to stop him from getting it.

Even if more people had to die.

“We’ve had nothing to damn well report at the time,” I said. “So it was pretty useless ringing.”

“That is hardly true, given your recent excursion into Brooklyn.”

“Which netted you the laptops—and if you didn’t get them, I don’t know who did, because I didn’t fucking tell anyone else about them.”

The sound of fighting ended abruptly. Jackson came up behind me, shaking his right hand. That bastard has a jaw of steel.

Keep an eye on him, just in case knocking him out isn’t enough.

Rinaldo was, after all, a strong enough telepath to control someone right down to their body functions and breathing . . . The thought stalled.

Was he strong enough to do that from a distance? Or was he, perhaps, somewhere close?

Good thought. Keep him talking while I check the rest of the apartment.

Jackson snagged the keycard from the guard, spun some fire around him to keep him secure, then stepped over the two of us and went looking.

“There was very little on the laptops, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Rinaldo said.

“That’s not my fucking fault.”

“No, because we both know PIT was responsible for that little inconvenience.”

Meaning he did have someone inside PIT. How else could he have known PIT cleaned them out of anything useful before we got them back? “I did warn you that we wouldn’t get out of Brooklyn with anything of value. But whatever they erased could probably be retrieved with a clever enough tech guy.”

“That is the only reason I am not currently following through with my threat to flood the streets with the infected.”

Which was an odd statement if he did truly have someone in PIT. Or did his source simply not know about the state of the cloaks, and that they were all dead or dying? Rinaldo actually couldn’t follow through with his threat—and not just because the majority of the cloaks were dead and he didn’t appear to have the scientists.

“And how do you intend to do that, given Frederick is dead?” It was a guess on my part, but a safe enough one. As Adam had noted, it was unlikely Rinaldo would risk his thrall giving us too much information, no matter how useful Frederick might have been over the years. “He was your access point in controlling the cloaks, wasn’t he?”

“It would appear you gained entirely too much information from that man. I should have killed him the minute I noticed his absence.”

Meaning he was dead, and that the rats would be feasting off his flesh if PIT hadn’t gotten around to retrieving him—and I really hoped that was the case. And that desire did come from the vicious part of me.

“If you keep killing off your lieutenants willy-nilly, it will eventually put a crimp in your style.”

“Not when there are so many more able-bodied witches in this world—some of whom, apparently, have the means and the power to create a spell capable of restricting the magic of others.” He paused. “That is something Frederick wasn’t capable of.”

“Actually, he was, because his last spell did succeed in fully curtailing my fire.”

No one else in the apartment, Jackson said. I’ll go check the remaining apartments on this floor.

Watch your back.

You watch yours.

“And yet,” Rinaldo said, “here you are, still annoyingly alive.”

“Which is just as well, considering I can hardly get the information you want if I’m dead.”

“True. I have, however, reconsidered my position. It seems Frederick was correct in his summation of you.”

And with that, Amanda went limp in my grip. I spun around and withdrew the ropes of fire containing the guard—and none too soon.

He made an odd shuddering sound and then somewhat groggily looked around. “What the fuck just happened?”

“You tried to shoot us.”

His gaze jumped to mine. “No—”

“Yes.” I pressed two fingers against Amanda’s neck. No pulse—which wasn’t really surprising. We’d already gained information from his thrall; he wouldn’t take a similar risk with Amanda, even if her mind and body were his to control. “The woman you know as Felicity Hocking we know as Amanda Wilson. She’s not only a wanted killer but also an extremely strong telepath. She took your mind over.”

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.” I rose but didn’t give him back his weapon, just in case. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call this mess in. PIT will need to talk to you.”

He nodded, his gaze on Amanda’s body. “She dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do it?”

“No.” And I wasn’t about to go into a detailed explanation of what had happened. Instead, I got my old phone out of my bag, brought up Rinaldo’s picture, and showed it to him. “Do you recognize this man?”

He frowned and took the phone for a closer look. “He doesn’t live here, but his face is familiar, so it could be I’ve seen him around.”

Which didn’t really help much. I shoved that phone into my pocket, then got out Janice’s and used it to call the inspector.

“We can trace your location via this phone,” she said by way of hello. “Using different phones to contact me really doesn’t make all that much difference.”

“Maybe it just makes me feel safer,” I bit back. “Amanda’s dead, Inspector, at Rinaldo’s hands. It seems he’s now intent on killing rather than using me.”

“Suggesting he doesn’t fully understand what you are.”

“Or that he simply doesn’t care.” I glanced at Gale. “We have a security guard on location who thinks he’s seen Rinaldo in the building. Might be worth getting someone here to interview him more fully.”

“I’ll send one of our telepaths. In the meantime, get his people to secure the apartment.”

“Will do, Inspector.” But not before we did a more thorough check. I put the phone away, then returned my gaze to Gale and said, “You up to guarding this place until PIT can get more people here?”

He nodded and climbed to his feet. “We’ll lock the floor down for everyone except residents.”

“Thanks.”

He went out as Jackson came back in. “Anything?”

Jackson shook his head. “There’re seven other apartments on this floor, but he wasn’t in any of them.”

“I showed Gale his picture—he’s seen him, even if he can’t place him.”

“Then that’s something PIT can check. You called them?”

I nodded. “They’re sending people over.”

“Which means we need to run a check of this place ASAP, then get the hell out. I do not want to take part in another Q and A session.”

We began a thorough search but didn’t turn up anything—not even anything that suggested Amanda spent a whole lot of time here. Beyond clothes, there was little in the way of food or even the usual bits and pieces that came with living in one place for any length of time.

“Well, I guess it was a somewhat forlorn hope,” Jackson said.

I dumped the gun on Amanda’s bed, then headed for the front door. “True, but it’s nevertheless frustrating that we keep hitting walls.”

Gale looked around as we approached; there was a decent-sized bruise forming on the right side of his jaw. “Finished?”

“Yes.” Jackson gave him back the keycard. “Keep this place locked until PIT gets here. And sorry about the bruise.”

“What about my gun? Will that be needed as evidence, because I’ll have to report it if so.”

“That’s not my call. The weapon is inside, however.”

He nodded and we retreated. The two security officers who’d been downstairs were now stationed near the elevators; neither of them said anything as we called the elevator and walked inside.

“So, back to the office?” I said as the doors closed.

“I guess so. It’s not like we have many other options right now.”

No, we didn’t—not unless we wanted to conduct the proverbial needle-in-a-haystack search, and wander around Melbourne looking for the locker that matched the second of Wilson’s keys.

Once we were back in the office, I’d made us both a drink, then bumped the contact list from Janice’s phone across to his. “I’ll take A to M, and you can take the rest.”

“Righto.”

He sat down, booted up his computer, and began checking the numbers online. I did the same thing. Janice, unfortunately, had a lot of people in her contacts list.

“This,” I said, after twenty minutes, “is as tedious as I thought it would be. I need another tea.”

“Is that a hint for me to get off my rump and get you one?”

I smiled. “Yes. How far along are you?”

“Just hit X.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Someone has a surname starting with X?”

“Xavier, though I have no idea whether it’s a first or last name. The number doesn’t seem to be listed on Google.”

“Must be a private number.” I scrolled to the next screen—the H section.

“Probably. I’ll call it and see what happens.” He pushed up. “You want a donut with that cuppa?”

“There’s none left—I demolished them last night when I was making the risotto.”

“Gluttony at its finest.”

“Totally. I do believe there’re chocolate chip—” I paused and sat upright as a name practically jumped out at me. “What the hell is Janice doing with James Hamberly’s number in her phone?”

Jackson frowned. “Who?”

“James Hamberly—he was Denny Rosen Junior’s sometime lover and one of the victims of the Aswang.”

“Ah, him.” Jackson propped his butt on my desk rather than heading down to the coffee machine. “I was under the distinct impression Senior hated Hamberly, so why would Janice have his number on her phone?”

“Maybe she called Hamberly for him. Rosen must have talked to him at some point—why else would Junior say that Hamberly couldn’t be bribed?”

“And yet, despite that, Senior considered him a leech,” Jackson said. “That strikes me as a little odd now that I think about it.”

“Doesn’t it just.” I pressed the number and listened as the call went through.

“Holdright Industries,” a male voice said. “How may I help you?”

I was so totally caught off guard that I didn’t immediately answer.

“Hello?” the voice said again.

“Ah, sorry. I’d like to speak to James Hamberly, please.”

“Oh, James is no longer with us. I can, however, put you through to his replacement, Mark Terral.”

“No, it’s a personal matter. Thanks.”

“As Alice was wont to say, curiouser and curiouser,” Jackson said. “And that’s undoubtedly the reason why Holdright Industries rings a memory bell—if Hamberly worked there, he probably had their name tags or other paraphernalia at his house.”

“He might also,” I said slowly, “have a range of industrial shelving or racking, both at his office and at home.”

“Indeed. And given that name tag you found, our first port of call would have to be his office.” Jackson walked across to his desk and snagged his jacket off the back of the chair. “You got the key?”

“There’s no indication Wilson had anything to do with Hamberly.” Even so, I grabbed my bag to check.

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of link. We might not have uncovered it yet, that’s all.”

“Possible.” Though I personally doubted it. I found the second locker key sitting in a side pocket. “Still there. I’m glad Frederick was so intent on torturing me for information that he failed to check what I might be carrying.”

Jackson motioned me toward the door. “Wonder if PIT has rescued him yet.”

“They’d only be collecting his body if they do. Rinaldo did kill him.”

“I’m betting no one will be sad about that.”

“I’m betting you’re wrong. I think Sam and PIT had plans for our dark sorcerer.”

“I know Sam did, but it didn’t actually involve anything official.”

I glanced at him. “And what, exactly, are you implying by that?”

Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You know exactly what I’m implying. But if you want it spelled out . . . he was extremely angry when he discovered what had happened to you.”

“Yeah, he was so damn angry, he allowed you to come running ahead of the three of them.”

“He couldn’t have stopped me.” Jackson started the SUV and set the satnav for our destination. “And I did get a head start on them while they were dealing with Frederick.”

“He’s a vampire—or at least a pseudo one,” I replied. “If he wanted to catch up, he would have.”

“He did. He wasn’t far behind when you ran into me, remember.” He cast me a curious look. “Why don’t you want to believe that some part of the man still cares for you?”

I sighed. “Because it would just lead to heartbreak, and I’ve really had my fair share of that this lifetime.”

“But it could also lead to happiness, and that’s what you’ve been searching for all these centuries, isn’t it?”

A smile ghosted my lips. “It’s not going to happen.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“I still think you could at least talk to the man—he obviously has something he wants to say.”

I crossed my arms—a move I was well aware spoke of a need to protect myself. “And I think that you should keep your nose out of this particular aspect of my life.”

“Impossible.”

“Then how about you concentrate on driving?”

“I am one of those rare males who can actually concentrate on two things at once.”

I snorted. “Then think about the fact that if something does happen between me and Sam, the sexual part of our relationship is finished.”

“As I’ve already said, that is already a foregone conclusion.”

Or so he’d dreamed. When I’d combined our spirits and saved his life, I’d apparently not only created the link that allowed us to now communicate telepathically, but I had also leaked some of my ability—or curse, depending on how you viewed it—for prophetic dreams.

I shifted slightly to look at him more fully. “Have you had any more dreams?”

“No. And don’t change the subject.”

I blew out a somewhat frustrated breath. “If I agree to talk to Sam when all this shit is over, will you drop the subject as of now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Done,” I said.

“I expected a follow-through report.”

“And I expect that won’t be at all interesting.”

The navigation system politely informed us we’d missed a turn. So much for his being able to concentrate on two things at once.

Holdright Industries was in one of the new industrial estates in Cranbourne. Jackson pulled into one of the parking spots at the front, and we both climbed out. The building was unremarkable—a typical metal-roofed concrete warehouse with a two-story office section stuck onto the front. The reception area was on the small side but comfortably furnished.

A middle-aged woman looked up from the reception desk and smiled. Unlike the woman at Rosen Pharmaceuticals, this one was actually genuine. “Welcome to Holdright Industries. How may I help you both this afternoon?”

I showed her my badge. “We need to talk to someone in charge.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes, I’ll ask Frank to come down here.”

She made the call while we waited, and a few minutes later a balding man in his fifties came down and offered his hand. “Frank Newton,” he said. “How can I assist you both?”

“This may seem a somewhat strange request,” I said, “but we need to get into James Hamberly’s office and inspect whatever storage units he has there.”

He frowned. “You know James Hamberly is dead, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do. We still need to check out his office, I’m afraid.”

“Sure, but can I ask why?”

“We’re not really in a position to say,” Jackson said, “but it involves the theft of some research matter.”

Frank’s eyebrows rose. “And you think James was involved? Because he was a decent man, and I refuse to believe that’s possible.”

Many an otherwise decent man had gotten involved in shady dealings, but I bit the comment back and simply said, “At the moment, we’re only checking possible leads. It may turn out that this is just another red herring.”

Frank grunted and turned around. “This way, then.”

He led us through a door to the rear of the reception room and up a set of stairs. There was a long corridor lined with a series of glassed offices; James Hamberly’s was the last one on the right.

Frank knocked, then entered without waiting for a response. Mark Terral—a sallow-skinned, brown-haired man—looked at us over the top of his glasses. “Is there a problem, Frank?”

“These two PIT officers need to check out the storage units Hamberly was using.”

“That’s those three over there by the wall and the upright near the door. The ones behind me are new.” He paused, his gaze scanning us. “What’s Hamberly done?”

“Possibly nothing.” I started checking the units, looking for a number that matched the key. “We just have the tedious task of checking all possibilities, however remote.”

“Does this have anything to do with his murder?” he asked.

“Not his murder, no,” Jackson said. “Does the name Janice Green mean anything to you?”

Both men shook their heads. None of the locks matched the number of my key, so I moved across to the upright.

“Why?” Frank asked.

“Because she was murdered yesterday, and there was a Holdright Industries badge in her car. She also had Hamberly’s number in her cell.”

“We deal with a lot of people,” Frank began doubtfully.

Jackson held up his hand, stopping him. “I know. As we’ve said, we’re merely chasing down all possibilities.”

“No match with these units,” I said. “Do you mind if I double-check the remaining ones, just in case?”

Mark waved a hand in invitation. “Where did she work? I might not know her name, but I’ll probably know the company.”

“Rosen Industries,” Jackson said.

“Not a company we supply to.” Mark hesitated. “I think we did do a quote for them at one stage, though. Hang on, and I’ll grab the file from the archive.”

The archive turned out to be a box sitting on the top of the upright cabinet. Mark fished through it until he found what he was looking for—a file in a suspension folder bearing the name of Rosen. He handed it to Jackson who opened it up and did a quick scan. “Just quotes, as you said, and several years old at that.” He handed back the file, then glanced at me. “Anything?”

I checked the desk drawer, just in case. Unsurprisingly, it also wasn’t a match. “No.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be of more help,” Frank said.

I shrugged. “It was always a long shot, but thanks for your cooperation.”

Frank nodded and took us back downstairs. Once we were in the car again, I said, “Now what? Hamberly’s place?”

“I don’t think we have any other choice. I’m right out of options as to where else to look.”

“That makes two of us.” I sighed and scrubbed a hand through my hair. It’d been a hell of a day, and my energy levels were beginning to flag. Not because I needed fire, but simply because I was tired. Even a phoenix needed a decent night’s sleep occasionally.

“We can leave Hamberly’s until tomorrow if you’d prefer,” Jackson said, obviously catching those thoughts.

I wrinkled my nose. “I’d rather just get it over with. That way we’ve a clear run for new options tomorrow.”

Jackson snorted. “Because we’re so overrun with options right now.”

“Hey, we just might be after a decent night’s sleep.”

“And tomorrow the wish fairy will serve us Rinaldo’s head on a platter.”

I grinned. “Or the rats will.”

“That is even more unlikely.” He paused as he reversed out of the parking spot. “You want to punch Hamberly’s address into the GPS?”

As I did, he added, “If the rats uncover Rinaldo’s whereabouts, I very much doubt they’ll inform us, no matter what they might have agreed to.”

“And I think they will, if only because Radcliffe knows how dangerous I can be and will want that firepower as backup.”

“He’s too egotistical. He wants Rinaldo’s scalp all to himself.”

“He may have an ego the size of a planet, but he’s already lost a number of men in Rinaldo’s attacks—”

“The very reason why he won’t want our help. He’ll want to save face and prove he can handle any situation.”

“I guess time will tell which of us is right.”

His grin flashed. “We can always place a small wager on the matter.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of wager? Or is that a really stupid question?”

“It can be anything you want.”

“Fine. Dinner at a fancy restaurant of my choice.”

“Done. And if I win—” He paused, as if considering his options. The wicked grin that touched his lips had all sorts of possibilities racing through my mind.

“Yes?” I said when he didn’t immediately go on.

“You do my ironing for a week.”

“What?” I all but spluttered. “Are you crazy?”

“Have you seen the state of my wardrobe?”

“Yes, but me, ironing?”

“You’re disappointed it’s not something sexual. Go on, admit it.”

“I’m shocked more than disappointed.” I grinned. “It seems you still have a few surprises up your sleeve.”

“It’d quickly get boring if I didn’t.”

I was pretty sure that being involved with Jackson, on any level, would never get boring.

“And I, my dear Emberly, would say exactly the same thing about you.”

“I was very boring before I met you. It was supposed to be Rory’s turn to raise merry hell this century.”

“Once all this shit with Rinaldo and the research is over, PIT will go back to ignoring us, and things will get back to normal.” He paused. “Or as normal as things ever get when you’re running a PI agency.”

Somehow, I really doubted “normal” was something that would ever be applied to our lives again. Not if what both Lan and Grace had said was true.

Hamberly lived in one of those beautiful old Melbourne streets with wide footpaths and huge plane trees that arched over the road, creating a living green tunnel to drive through.

His house was hidden behind a six-foot green metal fence, but it was nowhere near as tidy as the other houses on the street. Weed and bushes scrambled wildly over the fence, and it wasn’t a result of his being dead. It had been like this the last time I’d come here.

As we walked over to his gate, I rather warily eyed the bushes that all but hid his neighbor’s yard. The elderly woman who owned the place had jumped out at me with questions—and scared me half to death—when a prophetic dream had sent me here after the Aswang, but far too late to save Hamberly. Thankfully, the old girl appeared to be elsewhere today.

We opened the gate and walked up to the front door. This time it was locked, and yellow and black police tape was barring our entry.

Jackson took the lock picks out of his pocket and in very little time, the door was open. He stepped through the tape, his footsteps echoing as he moved into the front room—Hamberly’s bedroom. I followed him in. That odd, almost chemical smell that had been here last time was gone; the air held only a slightly acidy taint that spoke of the fire that had almost wiped out the kitchen.

Jackson walked across to the mahogany wardrobe. “Nice, but not lockable.”

“No.” I glanced around the room, but other than fingerprint dust, nothing seemed to have changed. “I wonder why this place is still under police wraps? We know what killed Hamberly, and we’ve dealt with it.”

“Yeah, but the wheels of officialdom tend to move very slowly, so his body might not have been released by the coroner as yet.” He opened the wardrobe doors and rummaged around. “No files or any other paperwork.”

Though I doubted Hamberly would have kept anything important in his bedside tables, I nevertheless checked them. As expected, there was nothing more than socks and undies. I headed out. The letters I’d seen in my dream were still sitting on the small table in the hall, and one of them caught my eye.

“That’s why Holdright Industries seemed so familiar.” I picked one up and showed it to Jackson. “Hamberly had mail from them.”

Jackson frowned. “Why would they be sending him mail when he worked there?”

“I can find out.” I ripped the envelope open and quickly scanned the letter. “It’s nothing more sinister than a superannuation update.”

“Huh.” Jackson moved past me and went into the next room. “There’re a couple of cabinets in here.”

“On my way.” I dropped the letter onto the table and stepped away, only to stop suddenly when the return address on the other letter caught my eye—Rosen Industries.

I quickly opened it; inside were a letter and a check for two thousand dollars. “Holy fuck.”

Jackson’s head appeared around the corner. “What?”

“Rosen Senior was sending money to Hamberly.” I scanned the letter’s content, but all it said was For services rendered, July, with Rosen’s signature at the bottom. “A couple of grand a month, if this is any indication.”

“Wonder if the company was paying him or if it was coming out of his own pocket.”

I glanced at the envelope again and realized that it hadn’t actually been posted. Was that why Janice had been at Holdright Industries? Had she been delivering the money for her boss? “If I had to guess, I’d say personal payment. Otherwise, he’d be using company checks, not personal ones, wouldn’t he?”

“Well, if it was a bribe to keep Hamberly away from Junior, he wasn’t honoring it.”

“But it does at least explain why Rosen thought he was a leech.” Even if the bastard had lied to us about not having much contact with Hamberly.

I dropped the envelope back onto the desk, then walked into the next room. This was a combination office and spare bedroom and, because it was closer to the kitchen and the fire that had threatened to wipe the place out, it had the faintest sprinkle of soot over everything. There were two cabinets to one side of the desk, but neither had our key’s number.

“Wonder if he had a shed.” I moved out of the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen. I didn’t bother checking the living area, as I knew from the last time I was here there were no cabinets in there and the only paperwork was old newspapers and magazines.

“I’ll go look.” Jackson pressed a hand against my hip, lightly pushing me to one side so he could get past. As he went out into the rear yard, I started searching the kitchen drawers and cabinets. The bottom drawer near the end of the counter turned out to be filled to the brim with all sorts of bills and other bits. Though I doubted anything useful would be found, I nevertheless pulled the drawer out, dumped it on top of the counter, and began sifting through the papers.

Jackson came back just as I’d finished. “Anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “There’re a small shed and several drawers containing tax and super paperwork, but nothing even remotely interesting.”

I frowned and shoved the drawer back home. “There’s got to be something here. That money can’t have been a bribe to keep Hamberly away from his son—Rosen was well aware the relationship was ongoing when we asked him about it. There has to be another reason behind Rosen giving Hamberly that sort of money.”

“Something like hiding important information, perhaps?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Hamberly’s certainly the last person anyone would have thought to ask about hidden research information. Senior didn’t exactly hide his thoughts about his son’s relationship with the man, did he?”

“No.” Jackson leaned a hip against the counter. “Maybe Hamberly has storage facilities elsewhere.”

“I didn’t find any indication of it in the pile of bills, and there surely would have been.” I drummed my fingers on the counter, my gaze scanning the scorch marks up the wall and across the ceiling . . . My thoughts stalled.

Old places like this were very popular with renovators because the steep roofline meant it was very easy to build a loft into them. Hamberly’s place didn’t appear to have one, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t using the space or storing stuff up there. I pushed away from the bench and headed into the laundry. The access hole was an unusually large one; I jumped up, grabbed the hanging cord, and pulled it down. A set of metal steps similar to the ones Jackson had installed in our office folded down from the roof.

“It appears unusually bright up there,” Jackson noted.

I climbed to the top of the sturdy ladder and looked around. “There are a couple of skylights in the rear portion of the roofline.”

And that wasn’t all. While there might have been no evidence of a loft from the front of the house, the entire area under the roof had been extensively converted. It was bright and white, with two distinct, paneled spaces consisting of a room immediately to my left and an office area to my right. The latter had a large desk and five filing units—two four-drawer and three of the shorter two-drawer ones—and a comfortable-looking sofa. Hamberly obviously hadn’t gotten any of those up that ladder, so there had to be a secondary access point somewhere else.

“Anything else of interest?” Jackson asked.

“You could say that.”

I climbed into the loft and waited until he did the same.

“Whoa,” he said. “Hamberly was certainly intent on keeping something secret.”

“And from the look of it, neither PIT nor the cops have been up here to investigate. That strikes me as odd.”

“Not really. Not given Hamberly was the victim of the Aswang and involved with Junior rather than Senior—at least as far as anyone was aware.” He waved a hand to the left. “I’ll tackle the room.”

His footsteps echoed on the wooden flooring, smothering the sound of mine as I walked across to the desk. There were several folders sitting in an in-tray, each one bearing someone’s name. I picked up the top one and flipped it open. The images that greeted me had my eyebrows rising, if only because they were of Hamberly and someone who wasn’t Rosen Junior in sexually explicit positions. The man might not have looked like much, but he certainly had an imagination, if these photos were anything to go by.

I checked out the rest of the folders; while each one contained a different man with Hamberly, many were not only sexually explicit, but also veered heavily into BDSM, piss play, and even some erotic asphyxiation.

“Hamberly’s been photographing his conquests,” I said. “Some of these images are . . . interesting, to say the least.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Jackson said. “But this is where he’s processing them—it’s a fully kitted-out photo lab.”

“Well, he certainly wouldn’t be getting these images printed down at the local office supply place, let me tell you.”

A door creaked. “There’s also a small photography studio set up behind the lab. The setup looks professional.”

I put the folders back and walked over to the first of the taller cabinets. It wasn’t locked, but the number was so familiar, I stared at it for several seconds before it actually registered.

It seemed I was wrong, and Jackson had been right.

Wilson did have something to do with Hamberly, because I’d just found the lock that matched the second damn key.