Shit!
Oliver raked a hand through his hair.
They’d been watching the screen when she walked into that room. And now it was completely dead.
“Saul, how come we dropped out?” Oliver bellowed.
“I don’t know.” The orc started to fiddle with the control panel. “It’s not our end. The connection’s broken on her end.”
Oliver fisted his hands. “This is fucking bad.”
“Should we send the men in?”
It was tempting to give the affirmative, but he sensed it was too soon. If they did that, her cover would be blown, and any chance of further undercover work forfeited. But what if she was in danger? What if Clare fucking disappeared? He’d never forgive himself.
“Wait a few minutes.” He was relying on bare intuition. He tried to switch on his methodical logic. His emotions were muddying the picture. As he paced in the small van, and Saul fiddled helplessly with the controls, there was a crackle, and then they had a view of the main club again. Sounds and music resumed.
What was going on? Did that room have a force field surrounding it that blocked out surveillance devices?
Nevertheless, he breathed a sigh of relief. “She’s out.”
“Thank the gods.” Saul huffed an equally huge sigh.
“Damn weird,” Oliver muttered. He watched intently as she circulated for maybe ten more minutes, noting the species she was chatting to. She sounded okay, was doing a good job of sounding like a naïve little human on her first foray into the monster realms. But gods, he was sick of seeing those monsters’ eyes on her, and how often their gaze dipped below the camera to her beautiful breasts. He wanted to fucking haul them against the wall and pummel their smug, rich faces.
Purely professional concern.
Yeah, like fuck.
Soon after, she bade her farewells to Emmaline and left to catch a cab that just happened to be driven by Trent. As she stepped into the cab, Oliver breathed again, knowing she’d be delivered safely home.
As soon as she was inside the car, he called her. She answered almost before it had rung.
“What the fuck happened? You went completely offline.”
“Did I? When?”
“You were heading toward a door with Emmeline Shaw and then … nothing.” He tried to keep the tension out of his voice.
“Damn,” she said. “That was the most important part.”
“What the fuck went on in there?”
“I was introduced to a guy, it was kind of a cliché, he was called Master and sat on a dais like a king… he was definitely in charge.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Tan skin, dark hair to his shoulders, dark eyes, very good looking.”
Oliver thinned his lips. Gods, was he jealous? And then she added, “He was wearing black silk gloves. And a huge diamond ring on the middle finger of his left hand.”
“Matteus. He always wears gloves.” The Kominskys had claws even in their non-vampiric form, and papery veined skin on their hands. It was the one thing that undermined their good looks. Vlad flaunted his claws, but Matteus was too vain, and kept them hidden.
“It did look like Matteus, but also—not quite. This guy was better looking, more charismatic than the pictures we have on file.”
Oliver let out a low expletive. It was Matteus, for certain. He wasn’t sure how that fucker could have gotten even better looking. Plastic surgery? Botox? Whatever, he still didn’t like the way Clare kept mentioning it. “What did he talk to you about?”
“Me being special. And beautiful. About an influential employer who wanted what I had to offer.”
