Page 27 of Claimed
“Because there is literally no other trail to this guy,” he says, looking up at me. “Nothing. Every purchase, every lease is wrapped in so much bullshit it would take me months to get to the bottom of it. Even his business has no legal address. No P.O. No nothing.”
“Like he’s a fucking ghost,” Ruin breathes.
T nods. “This guy has figured out how to disappear off the face of the earth and still walk on it. Our only chance to get the Brightex is while he is here. In Miami. Because once he leaves again, there will be no finding him.”
For a long moment, no one speaks.
Ruin scrubs a hand over his face as he pulls his cell from his back pocket. “I will call Markus and see if he knows anything else about this guy.” He looks at each of us. “While I do that, get suited up.”
“Why?” I ask.
His midnight gaze locks with mine. “Because we need to see what we are working with.”
“Recon?” Gage asks, his tone stoic. Blank.
Ruin’s smile is all fang. “Recon.”
There is no way to portal in without being seen by the numerous men crawling the place, so I slip through the trees at the rear of the property.
Somewhere in the darkness, the team is doing to same.
Tanner will be in beast form, Ruin like a dark haired wraith. We had to hide Gage and Horan’s pale locks under caps, and my face itches from the grease paint covering it. The local colony took one look at our odd group and smirked.
I get it. I do.
A vampire captain, his exiled fae second in command, the packless Alpha, a demon, and a fallen angel.
It could be the start of a twisted joke if it wasn’t so fucking sad.
All of us without a home. A place to belong.
Until we found Lock Lake.
But unlike the others, Lock Lake will never be my home. Nowhere will be. Not until they put me in the fucking hard ground.
Which may happen sooner rather than fucking later with this idiocy.
Forcing the melancholy away, I press behind a thick palm at the rear of the small yard.
I will give it to our buyer. He has excellent taste.
More cocaine dealer than I normally go for, but the two-story rear view of the place is worth quite a few looks, with all the floor to ceiling windows spilling amber light onto the grass. The terra cotta roof is black in the night, but it matches the yellowed stucco covering the walls and open archways leading out to a pool. Though I doubt this cat swims with the ocean as his back yard, I get the appeal.
I scan the walls for any sign of a security system.
There are no cameras visible. But there are so many damn guards, the house is fucking crawling with dark clad bodies. Eight upstairs, two in each window. Twelve or more on the first level.
Every single fucking one is riddled weapons, and I catch more than one pair of shining irises.
At least half are supes and the other have itchy trigger fingers.
Snorting under my breath, I track the roof again, expecting a sniper or two on the low terra cotta.
There is no shine of a lens, no glimmer of eyes or teeth in the gloom.
I turn my head away, ready to head back to the staging area. A shadow breaks loose from the trees beside me, the shape obscured by black fabric and the gloom.
It starts toward the house and I dive.
