Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

DRAKE

D rake glared at his phone as if he could intimidate it into revealing its secrets. He had finally gotten a few minutes to himself around dinner time and missed Garrett. There was more work left to do, so getting together wasn’t going to happen tonight, but he wanted to check in and see how the day had gone.

Except that Garrett didn’t pick up. The call went right to voicemail. He waited half an hour and tried again, with the same result.

That seemed strange. Office hours were over, and Drake knew the clinic closed promptly. Even if Garrett had stayed late for some reason, he always picked up on Drake’s calls.

Worse, he had a bad feeling about the situation he couldn’t shake. That hadn’t escalated to a vision, but it didn’t bode well. Something was wrong, but Drake wasn’t sure what to do. If he drove to the clinic and Garrett had just been busy, he might look like a controlling boyfriend.

Drake closed his eyes and concentrated. He and Garrett hadn’t been together long. Psychic bonds developed over time, growing stronger. Still, Drake counted on the intensity of what he already felt for Garrett to help deepen his connection.

There. The impressions were faint but definitely belonged to Garrett. The intensity of the feelings nearly made Drake stagger. “Something’s not right.” He’s in trouble. Afraid. Angry. He’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be. Not sure he can get home.

His phone rang from an unfamiliar number, and Drake hoped that for once, his sixth sense was wrong. Then he saw the text he’d missed.

Garrett: Kidnapped. Car

Before he could act on the upsetting text, he answered the call. “Hello?”

“Is this Dr. Thompson’s boyfriend?” a female voice asked.

“Who is this? How did you get my number?”

“You’ve called the vet clinic several times lately, and I was with Garrett when he answered, and he said the call was from his boyfriend. I’m Kirsten. I work with Garrett, and I think he’s in trouble.”

Fifteen minutes later, Drake pulled up in front of a tidy house in a quiet neighborhood. A woman met him at the door. “Drake?”

Before he could answer, Bailey shot from the next room to bounce almost chin height, wagging and excited.

“Can he vouch for me?” Drake reached out to pet the dog.

“Come in. I think we’ve got a problem, but I don’t know what to do.”

Drake took a seat at the kitchen table and shook his head to decline coffee when Kirsten offered.

“Bailey comes into the clinic with Dr. Thompson most days. He’s everyone’s emotional support dog, and he really helps skittish patients and their humans.” She reached down to pat Bailey and a pittie mix.

“Dr. Thompson hasn’t done as much overtime lately…because he’s been with you,” she said with a tired smile. “Which is great. Really. He needs a life. We’ve all been nudging him to do something besides work. But he needed to get caught up, so I offered to take Bailey to the dog park with Cuddles and bring him back here. Doc should have picked him up two hours ago.”

“Did you call him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. No answer—which is really weird. And the call went to the wrong voicemail. It’s the one for when his phone runs out of charge, not his usual message.”

Drake had noticed the response sounded different but didn’t know there were two message boxes.

“I got a partial text. He’s in trouble. Do you know anyone who would want to kidnap Garrett?”

“Kidnap? Oh, God. I was afraid something happened to him, but I thought that either he didn’t have his phone, or it’s broken,” Kirsten went on. “He said you were some sort of cop. I didn’t want to call the police because I don’t have any evidence, but I was scared to drive to the clinic myself because of the guy who was in the other day.”

Drake had interviewed a lot of witnesses. People always picked up on more than they realized, until questions led them to mention important details they had initially overlooked.

“Tell me about the guy.”

Kirsten paused and chewed her bottom lip as if deciding how much to say. “We have this one client who gives me the creeps. The person, not the dog. The dog is sweet. But the man—we all think he’s a gangster.”

That sent a cold chill down Drake’s spine. “Why? Has he done anything that suggested he was dangerous?”

Kirsten shook her head. “No. Except…I guess it’s the vibes he gives off and the way he carries himself. Oh, and I know this is cliché, but I swear he’s got a gun under his jacket from how it fits. You know, in one of those shoulder holsters like on TV.”

“Do you know his name?”

Kirsten looked unsure. “I’m not supposed to breach client confidentiality.”

Drake pulled out his badge. “Federal agent. I appreciate your dedication, but in the time it takes to get a warrant, Garrett could be in a lot more trouble.”

“Mr. Colletta.” Kirsten apparently decided to ignore confidentiality. “He looks like something right out of Hollywood, like an extra in one of those mob movies. He’s always polite, but he gives everyone the creeps because there’s just something…dangerous…about him.”

Drake’s heart sank. Colletta? Shit. What’s the likelihood that McElvoy’s top enforcer is also Garrett’s problem pet owner? “I’ve always found it wise to trust your instincts on something like that,” Drake replied. “He brings a pet to the clinic?”

“Brian. He’s this big goofy boxer mix. Real sweetheart. And Colletta seems to take good care of Brian. So if he’s a gangster, at least he loves his dog,” Kirsten said.

“Do you think Colletta has something to do with Garrett not answering his phone? Did Garrett say anything that made you think he was in danger?” Drake clamped down on his worry and hoped he didn’t have a vision in front of the witness.

“No, more of a gut feeling. Women’s intuition,” she said with a dry chuckle.

Bailey nudged Drake’s knee and looked up at him. Drake ruffled his ears. He couldn’t sense animal’s feelings the way Garrett could, but he got the feeling that Bailey was stressed. Even Cuddles seemed subdued, sticking close to her friend.

“Can you give me the key or the codes to the clinic? And can Bailey stay with you until we figure this out? I can check on Garrett. Was he feeling okay? Maybe he passed out.”

“He didn’t say anything about not feeling well. He’s been in such a good mood lately—and I think it has a lot to do with you,” she replied. “He likes you a lot.”

“He mentioned me?” Drake felt pleased and surprised.

“Don’t worry—he didn’t give away any secrets. He just said you’d had some fun dates, and you worked in law enforcement. So that’s why I thought maybe you could help if he’s in trouble.”

“If you don’t want to give me the keys, can you meet me at the clinic? Stay in your car until I call you. I’ll make sure it’s safe to go in.”

“Yeah. Sure. I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll bring my keys. I know the alarm code. We can be there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you. I’ll follow your car.” Drake realized she couldn’t see his truck and gave her a quick description so she’d know it was him. “Keep your doors locked until I call you back.”

“Do you think he’s okay? I’m totally all right if I’ve been overreacting.”

“I hope so, but I’ve got a feeling something’s not right. We’ll figure it out.” Drake stood and let her lead him to the door. The longer he talked to Kirsten, the stronger his worry became.

They made it to the clinic in record time, and he parked a block away. He cut through an alley to come around to the back of the building and saw Garrett’s Suburban still in the small employee lot. Kirsten was there as well and gave a nervous wave.

So he didn’t leave on his own.

No one else lurked in the parking lot, so Drake moved closer to the clinic. The overhead lot security lights illuminated the space enough to rule out most hiding places. Drake had his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, since most of the clinic was dark.

The kicked-in back door made ice settle in his stomach. He froze, listening. No sounds came from inside.

Drake could think of several reasons why someone might break into a vet clinic. Drugs and money were at the top of the list. But it didn’t look like the place had been ransacked. As Drake moved farther inside, he realized most of the office hadn’t been touched, not even the locked cabinets in the operating room.

Garrett’s office, however, was in disarray, as if he had needed to pack quickly and leave in a hurry. Then he found Garrett’s broken phone on the floor.

He wouldn’t have left without this. And there’s no reason for it to be broken—unless there was a fight.

He thought of Garrett’s partial text about being kidnapped. Unfortunately, everything at the scene supported his worries.

The lights were still on in an operating room with a bloodstained surgical table. Someone had been operated on, but they left without cleaning up afterward.

Garrett’s office also supported the idea that he had left in a hurry, with little preparation. His computer was still on, and his ledgers lay open on his desk. His backpack was missing.

Drake closed his eyes and laid a hand flat on Garrett’s desk, hoping to pick up some psychic resonance that would explain what happened.

Drake didn’t recognize the location. Shabby, like part of an abandoned building. Garrett didn’t look hurt, just frightened and angry. Blood spattered his shirt, but Drake couldn’t spot an injury.

Worst of all was the wash of despair he felt from Garrett, the acceptance that he probably wouldn’t make it home alive.

Drake shook off the vision. His heart pounded, and his mouth was dry with the fear he picked up from Garrett and his own anxiousness to keep him safe.

Drake didn’t touch anything, but he doubted the cops would get prints. He left everything as he found it and went out the back, then called Kirsten. “Do you have a way to view the security footage?”

“We should be able to see it at the front desk.”

Drake cursed under his breath since the delay would cost valuable time identifying Garrett’s kidnapper.

“You don’t need to come in. The back door was open. Go home and lock your doors. Keep Bailey safe. After I’ve looked at the security footage, I’ll call the police.”

“Do you think they can help?”

“I don’t think they’re going to find anything useful in the clinic, but I want to see what showed up on the recordings. And thank you for being such a good friend to Garrett and Bailey.”

“I hope you can bring him back safely. He’s a great guy,” she said. “I’ll take good care of Bailey. He can have a sleepover with Cuddles.”

Drake took Garrett’s broken phone and slipped it into his pocket. That was definitely withholding evidence, but Drake knew the local cops didn’t have the FBSI’s resources or his urgency.

I’m calling them for window dressing. I’m officially taking charge of this investigation.

He went to the front desk and figured out how to see the security camera footage, thankful that the system was fairly simple. Backing it up several hours, he saw Garrett in his office doing paperwork, then saw him startle as two men broke down the door and burst into his room.

“Oh, fuck.” Drake hadn’t expected to recognize Garrett’s kidnappers on sight, and he hoped he had been wrong about dog owner Colletta being the same as the mobster.

He called Clark. “We’ve got a big problem. Garrett’s been kidnapped—and Antonio Colletta did it.”

“Colletta? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just watched the security footage. He took Garrett. I got the license plate. Can you run it through the traffic cameras?” Drake gave Clark the plate number.

“Colletta works for McElvoy. McElvoy’s outfit owns several properties in the warehouse district. I can run the plate and get a list of McElvoy’s holdings,” Clark volunteered. “Why would Colletta want to kidnap a vet?”

Drake ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. “One of Garrett’s employees called me because he was late to pick up his dog. She said that Colletta’s dog was one of their patients—the staff had him pegged as a mobster. It looks like they forced Garrett to do surgery and then took him—maybe for post-op care.”

“There’s a mob war on. Maybe they figured having a medic would come in handy.”

“Yeah, that was my thought.”

“We’ll get him back.”

Drake appreciated Clark saying so, but he worried that it might not be that simple. “Going to do my damnedest to make sure.”

“Colletta has a pet vampire—Paul Bessette,” Clark pointed out. “Don’t forget to factor that into the equation. If he intends to keep Garrett against his will and have him cooperate enough to operate on their wounded soldiers, Colletta is likely to decide a little vampire compulsion will keep him in line. Less likely to cause brain fog than most witchy spells, damn near unbreakable.”

Compulsion . The word made Drake go cold. His intuition told him Clark was probably right.

Colletta and McElvoy are neck deep in trafficking and the zombie drugs for supernatural creatures. Will they use something on Garrett to keep him from fighting back?

“Garrett doesn’t know anything about the work I’ve been doing here or any of the players. It’s possible that Colletta might have somehow found out about us, but since he had a client relationship with Garrett before, I don’t think he took Garrett to get to me,” Drake reasoned out loud.

“Safer for Garrett if Colletta doesn’t make that connection, although with the vamps involved, this just got a lot messier.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Drake said. “We’re going to have to factor a hostage rescue into the plans.”

When Drake felt certain he hadn’t overlooked anything in the vet office connected to Colletta, he called the police.

“FBSI Special Agent Drake Carlson reporting a break-in and abduction from a veterinary office,” he told the desk clerk. “I’m onsite, so make sure they know that. The perps are gone.”

He met the police with badge in hand, unsurprised at the frosty response from the senior officer. “You’ve already contaminated the scene,” the cop groused.

“I’m claiming jurisdiction for the bureau,” Drake told him levelly. “I called your office as a courtesy. We believe the abduction is related to one of our cases. That makes the veterinarian missing and endangered. When your team has finished here, I’ll want a full report.”

The cop clearly wasn’t happy, but Drake didn’t give a damn.

Drake’s next call was to his boss. “We’ve got a change in the situation,” he reported. “One of McElvoy’s lieutenants took a hostage.”

“Stick to the plan,” Special Agent in Charge Walter Richards replied. “What do you know about the hostage?”

“Garrett Thompson, veterinarian.” Drake forced himself to sound like he was talking about a total stranger despite his fear for Garrett’s safety. “One of McElvoy’s top lieutenants took his dog to the practice. After the last shootout between McElvoy’s people and Rankin’s mob, he took the dog to the vet after hours for treatment—and kidnapped the vet.”

“Well, you don’t see that every day,” Richards said. “Do you know where they’re holding the hostage?”

“Our best intel has McElvoy’s operation down in the warehouse area. I did recon a few days ago, and what I saw backs that up.”

“And Rankin’s mob? Where are they located?”

“Farther out of town, another deserted industrial park,” Drake reported. “Everything I’ve seen says McElvoy has the advantage, but Rankin isn’t going down easily. I think they’re headed for a war, and civilians—including the hostage—are going to be in the crossfire if we let that happen.”

“What about the witch? The one who wanted to take over for Fletcher Swain?” Richards asked. “Your last report mentioned a couple of possible successors.”

Drake gritted his teeth, straining for patience. He knew Richards liked to dissect the reports in person or on a call, but right now, Drake was mindful that every minute slipping away might be one less Garrett had to live.

“Jennings Weston is still most likely to take over. He’s aligned with McElvoy and with Doane McGill.”

“McGill’s always been trouble. He and his brood have always flaunted being vampires,” Richards growled. “Good thing the public is conditioned to think it’s all a bunch of extreme goths.”

“If we’re sticking to the timeline, then I’d like to send a strike team in for the hostage at the same time the big fight goes down,” Drake said. “McElvoy will use the hostage to his greatest advantage and then get rid of anything that slows him down.”

He had to switch into the cold, practical place in his head where he went as an agent, forcing himself to talk about the hostage instead of Garrett, making it impersonal and tactical. There would be time for fear and heartbreak later.

“That increases the risk of giving away the whole mission,” Richards replied.

“With all due respect, sir, it also increases the chance of bringing the hostage home alive.” He paused. “You know the media will make hash of us if something happens to the hostage no matter how many mobsters and drug rings we take down.”

He hated bargaining for Garrett’s life like this, but he had a hunch how Richards’s mind worked and where his sensitivities lay. Richards wasn’t uncaring or corrupt—a nice change from Drake’s prior assignment. Richards was just a little too clinical, forgetting the human element—and overlooking how something would play to the media.

“Simultaneous strikes,” Richards finally agreed. “Go in after the hostage as the other teams attack. That provides cover and keeps the rescue from tipping our hand.”

Finally!

“Three teams of five to go after the drug manufacturing, warehousing, and trafficking centers. One team of three to rescue the hostage.”

He waited, hoping Richards didn’t pick this moment to micromanage. Drake was relatively new in Richards’s organization, but he had plenty of experience and recommendations around his leadership under fire and tactical skill.

“Your call. I’ll send the teams—they’ll be ready to go tomorrow. Anything goes south, don’t get hung up on being a hero. Back out and try again another day.”

“Yes, sir.” What Drake felt wasn’t relief, but being in control of the solution empowered him to create a plan that didn’t sacrifice Garrett for the larger objectives. He texted Clark.

Drake: We’re a go for tomorrow night. Come down ASAP to plan. Meet you here.

He gave Clark his hotel address and then called the front desk and reserved two more rooms. Next, he reached out to Faye. “They’ve got Garrett.”

“Oh, hon. I’m sorry. You got a plan to get him back?”

“A plan, the go-ahead from HQ, and fifteen agents, plus you, me, and Clark.”

“I like that.”

“I’ve got you and Clark rooms here at the hotel. Come down tonight—I’ll order pizza, and we can work out logistics.”

“I’ll be there.” Faye hesitated. “Drake—are you accounting for the vampires?”

Drake felt a chill. “I know Doane McGill is involved, and McElvoy has them on his team, working with his witch. What have you seen?”

“Not everything I see comes true.”

“I know that. But I need full information to make good decisions.”

“I saw a slender, dark-haired man sinking his fangs into the throat of a younger, blond man. The bite wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t a turning bite. But it creates a bond with the vamp—and if there’s a witch involved, it can take away the will to rebel.”

Garrett. Bassette fanged Garrett. I’m gonna ? —

Gonna what? End the vamp. But what does that do to Garrett?

“I’m not sure what that means. Will he turn?”

“Not if that’s all there was to it,” Faye told him. “As long as he isn’t drained and doesn’t consume blood at the point of death, he’ll stay mortal. But what’s been done is likely to affect his ability to fight the vampire or act against him. It may pose a difficulty with your rescue.”

Would it make Garrett fight against me? I’m going to save him if I have to knock him over the head and carry him out, caveman style. I can apologize later. “How do I break the bond?”

“Either the vampire releases him, or you kill the vampire. If Colletta’s witch is involved, there may be a hook to the bond—like if he leaves without being released, he’ll die.”

“Die?” Drake felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s how they make sure their prisoners stay with them. Otherwise, a vampire’s glamour would fade with time and distance. If there is a witch involved, the geas can have other stipulations as well.”

“Okay. But do I have to kill the vampire and witch when I rescue the hostage? Can it be later?”

“I wouldn’t wait too long. No telling what the limit is.”

Drake paused, struggling for composure.

“They took your boy, didn’t they.” Faye didn’t make it a question. He wondered how much her Sight told her about his relationship with Garrett. It made him feel exposed, but he also didn’t feel judged, and he certainly wasn’t about to explain or apologize.

“Yes. The only saving grace is—I don’t think they know that there’s a link between Garrett and me.”

“Hmm. With a vamp who’s bitten him, and a possible witch’s spell, you can’t count on them not finding out,” she put his fears into words.

“Which is why I want us to go after him. You, me, and Clark. Closing down drug-making and stockpiling, holding trafficking victims—that’s normal stuff for us, even with witches and vamps thrown in because we’re the FB fuckin’ SI.”

“Language,” she chided without a bite to her tone.

“The feds have a patchy history with hostages,” he defended. “They’re a little too close to the idea of destroying the village to save it.”

“Can’t disagree with you. But we’ve got to think this through. You’ve either got to get the vamp to release him or kill the vamp.”

“Not a hard choice.”

“Easier said than done,” Faye said sharply, “It gets tricky because we don’t know how the witch is working with the vampire. And we probably won’t be able to stop and sort it all out in the moment. Do you have a safe house set up for him?”

Drake’s mind flashed back to the Carnival of Mysteries. “ You are safe here,” Madame called after them. “Remember that when you need sanctuary.”

“I’ve got just the place.” Drake prayed that he had not misunderstood. “People who will keep him safe while we figure out the details.”

“Let’s ride,” Faye said. “It’s been too long since I’ve raised a little hell.”

Faye and Clark gathered first thing in the morning, not long after dawn. Clark brought a couple dozen donuts, two large takeout jugs of coffee with fixings, and several bags of chips and cookies. He also had a couple of six-packs of soda and a bottle of whiskey “for medicinal purposes.”

Clark was FBSI, with a background before that in law enforcement. He stood a little shorter than Drake, lean, spare, and strong. His close-cropped dark hair was starting to gray at the temples, framing sharp features, with blue eyes that didn’t seem to miss any details.

Faye couldn’t have been more different. Curvy and full of energy, she only came up to Drake’s chin, with naturally curly brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes. She was a few years older than Drake, closer to forty, and one of the strongest witches and mediums he had ever met.

Drake thought of Faye as a witch, but that generic term didn’t really fit. She called herself a conjure, which was a combination of healer, far seer, medium, and someone who could call the natural energies and bend them to her will. Faye could hex and heal, speak to ghosts and compel them, track missing people, uncover hidden things, and make potions. She was also a damn fine shot.

Faye gave Drake a hug that nearly squashed his breath from his chest. Clark’s firm handshake and a slap on the back acknowledged the same camaraderie. Faye unloaded a cooler with meat, cheese, and condiments for lunch sandwiches, a ham and cheesy potato casserole to be heated in the hotel microwave, as well as jars of her homemade sweet pickles and jams.

“And this is for celebrating afterward,” she told Drake as she handed him a large jar of clear liquor.

Faye bustled around Drake’s room, setting up a makeshift kitchen on his counter. “An army moves on its stomach. Gotta have fuel if we’re going to war.”

Next, she unloaded two boxes and set them on a braided rug she laid down. “I’ve got my conjure materials. Don’t anyone step on the rug—it’s warded.”

They broke out the donuts and coffee as Drake took them through the information he had acquired. He couldn’t sleep with Garrett in danger and only managed to nod off a few times before worrisome visions or the bleed-through of Garrett’s emotions woke him. Since he couldn’t rest, he researched and catnapped as much as he could.

“I found some drone footage of the whole warehouse area,” he told them as he cast the image from his computer to the room’s television. “It’s a couple of years old, but I don’t think anything major has changed.

“We think the traffickers are holed up in what used to be an old warehouse.” Drake pointed out the two-story white brick structure. “This building was best suited for drug manufacturing.” He drew their attention to a different building close by. “And from the floorplans we could find, this is the most likely to be where they’re holding Garrett since it has a basement.”

“I’ll ask the ghosts to check. They’re not happy with the people using those spaces,” Faye replied.

“What are they telling you?” Clark asked.

Faye leaned back and clasped her hands on her lap. “Part of that industrial park was built over an old cemetery. People probably don’t remember. But the ghosts do. Their bodies weren’t moved—just the stones. They had something to do with the accidents and problems there over the years.”

Drake remembered that the park had a higher than average share of worker injuries, safety issues, and property damage from floods and fire.

“I’m guessing that the ghosts liked the park empty, and mobsters weren’t the kind of tenants they were hoping for?” Drake said.

Faye gave him the side-eye. “You think? They don’t like the newcomers. The people who died at the site and who had been buried there were regular folks. They’ve done what they could to inconvenience the mobsters whenever they had the chance.”

“Can you get them to confirm what I’ve just speculated from the drone footage?” Drake chafed at the delay. Going in without good information too far ahead of the other teams was suicide, but every hour that passed might be one less Garrett had to live.

“I can. Give me a bit. We’re farther away from the site than I prefer, but they’ll hear when I call.”

Faye took a polished piece of clear quartz and held it in her right hand. In her left was an oval of amethyst. She closed her eyes and the others stayed quiet, watching her work and on guard in case something went wrong.

Expressions flitted across her face as if she was listening to multiple conversations at once. Clark and Drake had watched Faye work before, so they knew not to interfere, even when she looked concerned or distressed. Listening to the clamor of dead voices had to be difficult, and Drake didn’t know how helpful the ghosts would be since they weren’t recently dead.

Turned out, spirits have a long memory for grievance.

When Faye roused from her trance, Clark held out a cup of black coffee and took the crystals from her. Drake handed her a donut. Eating and drinking was good grounding after dealing with the spirit realm, and he figured that sugar and caffeine couldn’t hurt.

“The ghosts haven’t faded. They’re even more angry at the mobsters than they were at the businesses, and they’re happy to help however they can,” she reported after she had drunk half the coffee and licked the sugar from her fingers.

“Jennings may be a witch, but he’s ignored the ghosts, which works in our favor,” Faye continued. “Then again, not every witch has a gift for spirits. If the vampires can see the ghosts, they’ve ignored them as well.”

“How many witches? How many vampires?” Drake pressed.

“One main witch—that’s likely Jennings Weston. A few lesser witches who do his bidding. Weston is only around some of the time. One of his disciples works for Colletta. Colletta runs a lot of the day-to-day show, and he has people who handle deliveries for the drug operation, deal with the trafficked people, and make sure the outbound drug shipments go where they’re supposed to,” Faye added.

“And the cops?” Clark’s voice held an edge. Drake knew that there was no monster Clark hated more than a corrupt cop.

“The ghosts say no one bothers the people in those buildings.” Faye shrugged. “So I’m guessing someone made arrangements. ”

Clark muttered something under his breath. Drake didn’t catch the words, but the disgust was clear.

“Any booby traps?” Drake knew the other teams would check for magical dangers, but it never hurt to have a heads-up.

Faye listened to her ghost spies, then nodded. “Not exactly booby traps, but wardings—not surprising with Weston and his witchlings around. The teams will need to put a damper on the alarm spells.”

“And the vampires?” Drake asked.

“The young ones can’t be out in daylight, and they’re too groggy to be much use even inside the buildings until it’s night,” Clark pointed out.

“The older ones aren’t as limited, but it all depends on whether they’re loyal enough to the witches to risk themselves,” Faye said. “Which I wouldn’t count on.”

“Are there other hostages besides Garrett? How many guards?”

Faye listened for a moment before looking up. “The guards come and go. They don’t think there are other hostages—besides a dog.”

“Anything else we should warn the other teams about?”

Faye shook her head. “They know we’re going up against witches and vampires—and they can handle that. We’ll have the ghosts on our side. If Colletta had a necromancer, the ghosts would have said so.”

When they took a break, Drake stepped outside, going around the back of the building so he could be in the air without being easily seen. To his surprise, Faye joined him.

“I wasn’t hiding from you, honest,” he said, chagrined.

“I knew that. Something’s troubling you. Perhaps I can help,” she said.

“My boyfriend’s been kidnapped by a mobster. Now it looks like there’s a dark witch and a vampire involved,” Drake replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. “And we’re going into battle. Considering everything, I’m in pretty good shape.”

She gave him a sad, kind smile. “You’re wondering whether Garrett will come with you willingly or if he will fight to stay with the vampire.”

Drake looked down. “Yeah. I know if he did, it wouldn’t be his fault. Wouldn’t be what he really wanted on his own. But still?—”

“What will you do if that happens?”

Drake had been asking himself that question all morning. “Can you whammy him? I really don’t want to give him a concussion in the process of rescuing him.”

“By whammy you mean knock him out? I can’t lift the compulsion. But I might be able to help him fight it, and failing that, I can probably make him pass out—harmlessly.”

Drake nodded. “Okay. Good. I can work with that.”

“Do you think they’ll pursue him once we take him away?” she asked.

“Depends on whether we leave any of the bastards still breathing,” Drake said. Before Garrett had been kidnapped, Drake was invested in stopping the drug smuggling and shifter psychic trafficking on their own merits. Now, he wanted to burn it all to the ground and make sure none of them walked away.

If the witches and the vampires put up a serious fight, his teams could be left with no other option than scorched earth. Which was an even better reason to get Garrett the hell away as fast as possible.

“You getting any premonitions? Because my visions aren’t telling me anything right now.” Drake kicked at the asphalt with the toe of his boot.

“Can you pick up anything from him?”

Drake shook his head, miserable. “Just what I told you. He was afraid, then utterly terrified, and then—it was like a door slammed. I have to believe he’s still alive, but I can’t sense him.”

“That’s the vampire compulsion. It doesn’t mean anything has happened to Garrett. It’s a fog he can’t break through. But if they believe he could be useful to them, they won’t have hurt him otherwise. Hang on to that. Deep down, he’s counting on you.”

They ate lunch, napped as best they could to prepare for being up late, and studied floor plans, utility drawings, and construction permits for the rest of the day. Faye insisted they eat before the rendezvous time, and while Drake had no appetite, he wasn’t going to argue with the witch.

Just before they headed to the industrial park, he handed Faye and Clark comm links like his own. He parked what he hoped was a safe distance away and got out of the truck.

“Rogers knows we’re going in dark and quiet. But this way, you know what else is going on,” he told them. They all knew their best shot at success—and getting everyone out alive—was making a quick in-and-out.

Drake checked his watch. “It’s go-time. Good luck, everyone.”

Clark went for the high ground with a sniper rifle. Faye and Drake stuck together. As soon as the old office building came into sight, Drake felt the temperature drop and a chill down his back that had nothing to do with the cold.

He caught glimpses of wispy figures out of the corner of his eye and darting flickers of light. Along with the cold came a wash of despair and anger—and the desire to mete out vengeance.

The empty business park had a post-apocalyptic feel to it, Drake thought. Boarded up windows, damaged roofs, and broken asphalt parking lots made it clear that the area was no longer inhabited.

The buildings were off the main road, back winding side roads, separated from more active areas. Perfect for not being noticed.

And if they’ve got the cops in their pocket, they aren’t worried about routine patrols.

Clark found the spot he wanted inside, a stairwell looking down the steps to the basement, and gave them a salute as he peeled off.

Drake met Faye’s eyes, and she gave a nod that meant her ghost squad was in place.

He had a long-bladed machete in his hands, another in a sheath on his belt, and a Colt .45 with a full clip in his shoulder holster. Decapitating vampires was a lot faster than staking them, and Drake didn’t intend to waste time.

The ghosts plowed a path for them, flushing out three guards and setting on them with fury. Drake tried to ignore the men’s screams as he and Faye eased past, relying on her invisible guides to find where Garrett was imprisoned.

Faye gestured, and the guards dropped to the ground. She looked at Drake and shook her head. “Not dead. Unconscious,” she murmured. “The ghosts will guard the guards.”

Drake couldn’t sense Garrett in the usual way, but he had a strong feeling they were close. When two young vampires suddenly showed up blocking the way, he knew Garrett had to be nearby.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” one of the vampires sneered.

“Technically, neither are you.” Drake charged at the nearest vamp, machete raised, while Faye summoned a freezing cold cloud of ghosts.

Thanks to her distraction, Drake took out the guard closest to him, severing his head in one swing of the machete.

Ghosts mobbed the other vampire, and his eyes widened in terror as they attacked him, grabbing at his clothing and hair, scratching down his arms and face with sharp nails.

Before he could run, Drake swung again. The body and head fell in different directions, slicking the floor with blood.

Faye muttered under her breath. The ghosts became a gray, swirling shield in front and behind them as they moved down the corridor until they stopped at the door Faye had seen in her vision. She nodded, and Drake reached for the knob. Faye gestured, and the locked door swung open.

I wish she could teach me how to do that.

They burst into the room to find Garrett and a snarling dog trying to protect each other.

“Let’s go,” Drake said, intent on trying the easy way first. He stayed in the doorway, not wanting to spook Garrett.

Garrett swallowed hard and took a step back. “I…can’t. Drake—get out of here before the guards come.”

“Not without you.”

“They won’t let me leave.”

“We aren’t asking permission.” Drake held out his hand.

Garrett looked ashamed. “I’ve been bitten—by a vamp. Not turned?—”

“I know,” Drake told him, meeting his gaze. “And I’m still here to take you home. We’ll fix it.”

“They put a spell on me. If the vamp doesn’t release me, I die in three days.”

“If you stay, you’ll get killed in the crossfire, or Colletta will get rid of you when you’re not useful.” Drake knew they didn’t have time to argue, but he preferred not to do anything that would hurt Garrett if he could avoid that.

“We can’t leave Brian.”

“The dog?”

Faye looked from the dog to Drake. “Not just a dog. He’s a shifter—locked into dog form. He can’t change.”

Drake and Garrett looked in horror at the dog, who slumped, eyes focused on the floor as if he understood—and maybe he did, Drake thought.

“Wear this.” Faye held out an amulet on a leather strap. “It won’t remove the compulsion, but it will strengthen you against its influence, and it might slow the vampire’s damage.”

Garrett reached out and took the amulet, dropping it over his head.

“Can you feel a difference?” Drake worried now that he saw the effect the vamp had on Garrett, angry that the creature had taken away his free will.

“Some. Maybe. He said I’d die in a few days. I guess we’ll know.”

Drake felt the words like a body blow, but he tried to keep his face neutral, being strong for Garrett.

“We aren’t going to let that happen. But we need to get out of here—now.”

“Here—put this on the dog. Just in case.” Faye pulled another amulet out of her pocket. Brian allowed Garrett to put it over his head, securing it with his collar so it didn’t dangle too low.

“We need to go , ” Drake hissed.

They heard rifle fire outside. “Get moving—we’ve got incoming,” Clark’s voice crackled in Drake’s ear.

“Roger.” Drake gestured for the others to hurry.

Two more vampires appeared in the corridor as they headed toward the exit. Faye spoke a word, and an invisible force tossed one of the creatures several feet away, hard enough to crack the wall. He rose again and ran forward, only to be met with a tightly controlled stream of fire that set him aflame.

Drake braced for the assault, putting himself between the attacker and Garrett. He didn’t expect Brian to lunge at the vampire, giving Drake the chance to step in and swing, taking off the creature’s head.

More shots sounded. Drake urged the others to a trot, alert for trouble. Three guards who got in their way didn’t slow them down. Drake shot two, and Faye dropped the other with a word.

“Head for the truck. I’ll cover you and meet you there. If I get cut off, leave without me. I’ll meet you back where we’re staying,” Clark told him on the comm.

Drake didn’t like that plan, but he wasn’t in a position to argue.

When they left the building, Drake heard gunshots and shouting and knew that the other teams were in mid-strike. He saw a couple of guards head their way, only to be dropped by sniper fire, telling him that Clark had found a new vantage point.

“Come on,” he told Garrett and Brian, looking around nervously.

“The farther away I go, the worse I feel.” Garrett looked like he was barely staying on his feet.

“Help him,” Faye ordered. “I’ve got this.”

Drake got under Garrett’s shoulder, helping bear his weight as they stumbled toward the truck. Brian stayed right beside them and gave Garrett worried glances.

If Colletta is keeping him in his animal form, maybe he doesn’t mind coming with us.

They finally reached the truck, and Drake breathed a sigh of relief. “Get in,” he told Brian and helped Garrett into the back seat. Faye rode shotgun. Drake started the engine just as Clark jogged up and hopped into the bed of the truck. He pounded on the window, a signal to go.

Drake floored the pedal, despite the rough road, and silently apologized to Clark, who was stuck in the back. Faye watched for enemies ahead, and Clark had his rifle out, ready to cut off pursuit. Garrett lay very still in the back seat, and Brian stayed close to him, laying his head on Garrett’s belly.

“I’m going straight to the carnival,” Drake told Faye. “I’ll take you and Clark back afterward, but right now, I want to see if they can help. And if they can’t change anything, it’s the safest shelter I can imagine.”

“We’ve got your back. Do what you need to do,” Faye reassured him.

Drake opened up the comm link and heard the team leads’ voices, the organized chaos of a raid.

“Package picked up—making the delivery,” he said during a break. “Going silent for now.” He switched the link off and hoped the other teams had achieved their goal without losing anyone.

That was unlikely, but he still wished them the best.

“They’ve done better than hold their own,” Faye told him. “They’re doing what they trained to do. You need to focus on your mission. We aren’t safe yet.”

Hang on, Garrett. We’ll see what the carnival can do to keep you and Brian safe and slow the curse while I go kill that fucking vamp and his witch.

One way or the other, we’re going to be done with this.