If she was cynical, she might think that Kova hoped the Auberon witch would break his binding. But if that was the case, why did she send him back beaten up and half-dead?
Before she could stop herself, Scarlett started to dress again. She put on fresh clothes with her sleek armored vest under a loose shirt. She dumped out her backpack and emptied her jacket pockets to take inventory.
She’d lost some of her stakes and used two of the smoke grenades. She had a few more in her suitcase, along with plenty of wooden bullets and?—
A tiny black box caught her eye. She grabbed it and examined it closely; it was rectangular, no bigger than a package of dental floss. This wasn’t hers. A rough patch marred the plastic, with the hint of white paint at the edge, as if someone had sanded off letters.
A cold chill swept over her. Her body shuddered as she remembered being pinned against the wall, wondering if this was how it ended as Julian checked her pockets. He’d found a full magazine of wooden bullets and tossed them into the darkness.
Then his hand dipped into her pocket, and she’d felt it slide over her hip. She’d been so consumed with formulating her escape that she hadn’t been able to wonder what he was doing.
“You sly bastard,” she marveled, staring at the little box. It had to be a tracking device. She took a picture of it with her phone, then jammed it back in her pocket.
Finding the tracker didn’t send her into a tailspin. All that roiling energy solidified, like a single block of ice in her chest that brought a cooling sensation, a stabilizing weight. Now she had a task, and she wouldn’t have to think all too closely about Julian until it was done.
She dressed quickly and covered her hair again with the ballcap. After checking the rest of her clothing and her backpack, she was confident this was the only tracker, so she grabbed it and headed out into the hotel. She surveyed the floor and breathed deeply. No scent of vampires.
A droning alarm buzzed over the quiet ambient music of the hotel. When she reached the elevator bank, she found a maintenance worker in a blue uniform stretching yellow tape over the open doors. The silver doors were caught halfway open, and peering past them, the elevator shaft yawned open.
“Sorry, you’ll have to take the stairs down,” the man drawled. “Should be fixed in an hour or two.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Thanks.”
In the cinderblock stairwell, her thundering footsteps echoed and seemed to chase her. Her heart was racing by the time she emerged into the lobby. Downstairs, she headed out onto the street and contemplated tossing the tracker onto the nearest truck that passed, sending him on a chase. But as she fiddled with the little black box in her pocket, an idea dawned on her. This could be an invitation.
She crossed the street and headed back into the drugstore where she’d bought her first aid. She bought a roll of medical tape and a box of plastic bags, then headed out of the store.
The Peachtree Center was a small hub of shops, restaurants, and the MARTA station that had brought her across town on her hasty retreat. The miniature mall wasconnected via glass-covered skywalks to several nearby hotels and office buildings. She wandered through them until she found herself in another towering hotel.
Up and down she rode elevators, debating where to set her trap. Finally, she settled on the men’s restroom on one of the lobby floors. Across the cavernous atrium was a bar and lounge with a balcony that overlooked the lower levels. From there, she could see the door to the restroom. She would be able to see him coming.
After checking behind herself, she ducked into the men’s restroom. Moving quickly, she sealed the tracker inside a plastic bag, then used the medical tape to secure the little box in the ledge beneath one of the sinks. It wasn’t the sort of place that would get scrubbed clean every day, nor where someone might find it.
Her heart thumped as she hurried out of the bathroom, catching a strange look from a man in a sport coat as he entered.
“Wrong one,” she said sheepishly, ducking her head as she darted up to the balcony. She knew that he wouldn’t come in the middle of the day, but still, she waited for several hours until the fatigue started to catch up with her. And she was startled when she saw a familiar face.
Not Julian, nor his comrades, but Jonas Wynn. Though his salt-and-pepper hair and casual clothes made him blend in with the businessmen milling around the lobby, he moved with a feline grace that distinguished him from the crowd of humanity. She watched him checking his surroundings, head tilted up as he sniffed the air.
Shit, could he smell her?
She ducked into her chair as if that would help. If he noticed her scent, he didn’t come for her. He patrolled the entire perimeter of the hotel lobby, even stepped into the men’s room and back out several times. After checking over his shoulder, he slipped into the women’s room and burst out thirty seconds later.
Something in her wanted to run to him and ask for the truth. Jonas was one of the most respected vampire hunters not just in the country, but in the world. He organized long missions that eradicated dangerous courts, including four baronies of the Casteron in the Pacific Northwest. Even Armina had spoken highly of him, saying he embodied the spirit of the Shieldsmen.
Until just a few months ago, when his daughter Kristina was turned. Scarlett had worked with her several times. She was a good hunter, at least for a human. On their first trip to Atlanta, Kristina had almost gotten herself killed, and Scarlett had gotten shot dragging her to safety. The last time Scarlett was here, Kristina had been wrangling the vampire with no memory and using him as a weapon.
And then…something happened. No one would tell her the details, but it was spoken of in hushed whispers. Kristina Arensberg got turned against her will, then threw in her lot with the Auberon. In turn, Jonas Wynn betrayed the Shieldsmen because of her. Now both of them were considered enemies to the Shieldsmen; not only had they turned from the hunters, but had joined the Auberon of all courts. For months, the Shieldsmen had been locking down secret locations, moving their armories and safehouses, since Jonas Wynn had access to nearly everything. It was a betrayal of the worst kind.
But Scarlett had hunted with Jonas. There was a cold, matter-of-fact way about him that she found reassuring. It was one thing to leave hunting to protect his daughter, but what could have convinced Jonas Wynn to side with Julian after the long, bloody history they had?
Something in her tugged, told her to go, to throw herself into his arms and ask for his help. At the very least, she could ask if there was any chance that she was wrong, if the world was different than she’d been taught.
But a cold voice—one that sounded curiously like Tante Mina—said, He’s not your father. And he has no reason to give a damn about you. He’s the enemy.
So she watched him go, feeling as alone as ever.
They’d probably think she trashed the tracker, but if she retrieved it later and moved it, they might realize what she was doing. Would that be enough to draw Julian out again?
