I PULLED UP at the staging area, which is almost always blocks away, well out of the danger zone, and prepared to wait and be briefed. Brice and I were at the back of the Jeep suiting up when Hill came jogging up to us. "Blake, as soon as you're suited, I'm taking you up."
"What about me?" Brice asked.
Hill looked at him, just a flick of dark eyes. "We know Blake, and what she can do. We've got a spot for her. Don't know you." Under less tense circumstances Hill would have been friendlier to Brice, but we were in the middle of the shit; there was no time.
Zerbrowski said, "Don't feel bad, Brice, she gets all the cute guys."
Brice frowned at him, but let it go.
"Brief me," I said, as I fastened the vest in place and made sure it was tight enough that once I strapped on weapons and ammo they'd be where I left them, not an inch to one side, but exactly where I strapped, holstered, or slid them.
"Keith Bores, thirty when he died, two years past that. He's taken his ex-wife and family hostage. Says he's going to kill her. Says he's got an order of execution on him, so he has nothing to lose, is that true?"
"It's true," I said. "The hostages?"
"Emily Bores, twenty-six, five months pregnant. Her doctor says a sudden shock, being shaken, hit, being dropped to the floor, and she could lose the baby."
I muttered, Shit, but kept putting everything in place. At times like this there seemed to be too many guns, too much ammo, too many blades, but later I might need it all.
"Is it Bores's baby?" Brice asked.
We both glanced at him, and then I went back to strapping everything into place. Hill answered for me. "Doesn't matter."
"He'll be less likely to hurt her if it's his," Brice persisted.
"Second husband's baby, but still doesn't matter."
"But..."
"Shut up, Brice," I said. To his credit, he did.
"Boy, seven; girl, four; one small dog. Everyone is in the kitchen at the back of the house. He had the wife close the drapes."
"So you're blind, except for infrared," I said.
"Yeah, and he hasn't fed, so he's not showing up well."
"You need me to spot him."
"Yes," Hill said.
"Spot him how? How can Blake see better than the infrared?" Brice asked.
"Explanations later," I said to Brice; to Hill I said, "Has he got control of the hostages using vampire mind tricks?"
"Doesn't seem to; we're hearing crying and some small screams from the wife and kids. They sound aware and unhappy."
"Good that they're not on his side, so they won't fight us, but shooting him in front of the wife and kids is going to be traumatic. She could lose the baby; the kids could be fucked up."
"It's a last resort."
"Why isn't he controlling them with his eyes and mind?" Brice said.
Yes, I'd told him to shut up, but that wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say, so I answered a question as I tightened the last few straps. "It doesn't work automatically, and extreme emotion can keep you safe from mind tricks. She probably hates and fears him. He's a baby vamp; he can't control the situation."
"But..."
"Enough." To Hill I said, "I'm suited up, let's do it."
Hill didn't bother to question; he just trusted that I had everything I needed, and he trusted in something else. He started out at a jog down the street. I paced him easily. We were both carrying between twenty-five and fifty extra pounds of equipment, depending on the kind of operation, the speed at which you needed to move, and dozens of variables. He glanced over at me, smiled, and started to run. That was why they'd sent Hill. They were all in damn good shape, but Hill was in exceptional shape, and he ran, not just for exercise, but for endurance. If I'd been human, just human, female and my size, no matter how good a shape I was in, I probably couldn't have kept up with him, but I wasn't human. I was one of the monsters, and my jogging partners were wereanimals. Hill was good, but he was only human. My pulse and heart rates were still even, a bit faster, but not much. We ran down the lighted street together, me having to push my pace only because his legs were inches longer than mine.
Hill led me into the first yard. I just turned with him, following the minute tells his body gave for the movements. It was the same way a lion follows a gazelle on the plains, or the way a fighter knows that the next fist is coming at his head; you see micromovements that tell you what the next big movement will be. The grass was harder footing than the road, but I dug in and kept with him. There was a light in the yard, but the yards beyond were more shadows than light. He vaulted the first fence, one-armed. I used two, and had plenty of breath to say, "Show-off."
He gave a low, growly laugh. It wasn't a beast rising, but the testosterone rising. He was male, and he was in an adrenaline rush, and he was finally able to really push his body physically and expend some of that waiting energy. There are things besides lycanthropy and sex that make a man's voice go lower. He hit the fence on the other side of the yard. We went over it, and we kept going over them. We left the lights behind and ran, and climbed, in the suburban dark. I trusted that this was the best way in, and that Hill knew any obstacles, and that we could handle any surprises. I trusted that SWAT had cleared all the houses that needed clearing. I trusted that everyone had done their job before I got there, and all I had to do was mine.
