Page 18 of A Hunter Born
His alarm clock began squawking again and Travis forced himself to rise, dropping a kiss on Morgan’s forehead that was currently scrunched adorably in a frown, her eyes still closed in denial of waking. “I have to go to work,” he whispered against her hair, “But you can sleep in if you want.”
Her lids lifted slowly, and a sexy smile slid over her lips as she stretched sinuously beneath the sheets, making him groan. Her voice was sleepy, a velvet purr as she said, “Good morning,” just before she reached for him and pulled him down for a kiss. Calling in sick was sounding better and better and his reasons not to becoming less convincing as his semi-erection lifted to full mast.
With a groan, Morgan released him and sat up. “I need to check in with Jourdain. He’ll want a status update.”
Back to business. That was good, that was absolutely right. They both had things to do, murders to solve, a dictator to overthrow… busy, busy, busy. Yeah. Not helping. His hardon still practically waving for attention. “Can I see you again tonight?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t coming off as needy and pathetic.
She frowned, which sent his stomach plummeting like a rock and finally managed to deflate his over-eager erection, but her next words worked wonders at improving his mood. “I’d like to,” she grimaced, “Provided Rodolfo hasn’t planned another party or event that requires my presence.” Running a hand through her hair, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Hopefully, Jamie will be able to break into those files soon and we’ll find something useful.”
God, he hoped so. He hoped they found a ton of incriminating evidence to bring the bastard down as well as something that would give him closure for Sophia.
∞∞∞
Morgan walked to Jourdain’s, enjoying the sunshine on her face and the much-needed fresh air to help clear the fog from her brain. She hadn’t wanted to leave Travis, and that was disconcerting. She hoped she wasn’t getting too attached. After all, Hunters rarely stayed long in one place and once this job was done, she and her team would be off to wherever their next mission took them. The sudden tightness in her chest that came with that thought had her gritting her teeth and mentally chastising herself to focus. She was a Hunter. A Hunter’s loyalty was to their team. Angelic distractions were temporary fun and nothing more. End of story.
Mounting the steps to Jourdain’s house, she rapped on the door and waited, only to be greeted by a tiny old woman in a bright orange muumuu with a mop of frizzled gray hair, shrewd eyes, and a meat cleaver in her hand brandished threateningly as she demanded, “What do you want?” in a heavily accented voice.
Smiling pleasantly, Morgan informed the woman, “I’m here to see Mister Jourdain. Is he in?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, her head jerking up and down as she took in Morgan from the top of her tightly braided hair to the toes of her combat boots. “What do you want with my Dessy?”
Ah. So, this must be the renowned voodoo practitioner and mother to the leader of the Order, Mama Delphine. “Mister Jourdain hired me to do a job for him.”
The woman’s eyes seemed to narrow even more, her nostrils flaring, her lips turning down in a severe frown as she made a humming noise in her throat before stepping back and waving Morgan inside with the meat cleaver. “Come. Sit. You wait,” and then the final order, rife with continued suspicion, “Don’t touch anything.”
Not that there was anything to touch, Morgan thought as she took the seat the woman indicated in a tiny little sitting room at the front of the house. Mama Delphine threw her one last narrow-eyed look before disappearing. A moment later, a song by Ella Fitzgerald came on somewhere deeper in the residence, accompanied by a loud striking noise that could only be the cleaver being put to work.
Pulling out her phone, Morgan saw a text from Kane that he’d driven the SUV home last night and a request for her to check in to assure him she was okay. Feeling a stab of guilt at her behavior which smacked of irresponsible, she quickly fired off a response thanking him and letting him know that she was currently at Jourdain’s. She also requested an update on Jamie’s status.
Christ. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t even thought about checking in with her team, and as team leader, that couldn’t happen. The safety and well-being of her team should always be her first priority. This was only more proof that Travis St. John was a distraction she could ill afford. Personal relationships and private liaisons weren’t exactly forbidden in the Hunter’s Society, but itwasexpected that if a Hunter was on a job, that job came first. And while this current job wasn’t a sanctioned contract, she’d still accepted the mission, should still be approaching it with absolute focus.
Destin Jourdain’s appearance in the doorway and his low rumble of, “You have something for me?”, immediately had Morgan standing from her seat and her mind back to business.
The man was dressed similarly to the day she’d met him, but today, there were no welcoming smiles. In fact, his frown was rather fearsome and Morgan couldn’t help but wonder if there had been another death. Whatever had brought about his current mood, he certainly didn’t look like he’d welcome an exchange of pleasantries so, she got straight to the point. “We’re getting closer to breaking through his firewalls. Subtle questioning hasn’t worked thus far. The man only wants to brag about his art collection.”
Jourdain’s lip curled with disdain. “His art,” he spat. “Do you know that during Katrina, the man was more worried about transporting his precious collection to safety than helping the people whose lives were at stake?”
Having met the Born, that didn’t surprise her. Morgan shook her head with disgust. “Cracking his computer files seems to be our best bet right now unless you have a suggestion of another thread we can pull?”
Jourdain shook his head. “Right now, I’d like to pull his intestines out through his nostrils until he squeals like a pig. I know he’s behind this,” he finished, his voice heavy with frustration.
Morgan could relate. She was eager to get to the bottom of this as well before it turned into a full-blown war between her kind and the witches. With that in mind, she suggested, “I could try a less subtle line of questioning to see where it leads me.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Though it might see me and my team booted out of his territory with nothing to show for it.”
“Or it might find you and your team in the greenhouse.”
Greenhouse? “I’m sorry?”
“On Rodolfo’s property, there’s a greenhouse. You may have seen it. It’s where he keeps the vampires that have earned his displeasure. He calls it his garden.”
Morgan recalled her previous conversation with the Born and his comment that she’d appreciate his garden after she’d asked about entertainments with a bit more challenge. It made sense in this new light where it hadn’t before. The Born punishing their Turned vampires for an assortment of crimes and misdeeds was nothing new, a necessary evil to ensure the vampires under one’s command didn’t run amok. However, the more sadistic among their kinddidsee it as a sport and came up with ever more creative means of punishment. Some liked whippings, bleeding a vampire, letting them feed only enough so that they would heal before the Born would begin the tortures once more. Others sometimes buried the vampires that had committed a grievous offense, leaving them conscious as their bodies slowly desiccated as they starved. Others went the old-school dungeon route.
To be left out in a greenhouse? Cooking under the intensified rays of a Louisiana sun? It would leave any vampire over a year turned, shriveling slowly into a petrified husk while older vampires would dehydrate even faster. Morgan shuddered.
“Do what you need to do, Miss Rhys, but within the bounds of caution,” Jourdain told her as he moved out of the doorway so that she could pass. “I did not bring you here to add your death to my conscience.”
Morgan nodded, moving to the exit. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Fourteen
