Page 43 of The Hunted
Erase his memories of everything he’s seen with Patrick’s research. Then compel him to get out of town with his family and not to speak to anyone within the CIA or Edmund’s organization.Those had been Webb’s orders back then.
I snagged a napkin and toyed with it, needing to do something with my hands. “The pic you sent us confirms it.” I couldn’t wait to find out how Agent Wyman got his memory back. Come to think of it, he could very well remember me. I’d never erased his knowledge of me, Webb, Tripp, or even my dad.
“Anyone else with him?” Tripp asked.
We were worried that Wyman was working with his former partner, Thomas, whose memories I’d also taken parts of. Man, it was going to be a shitshow if they remembered what had gone down. I wasn’t so worried about Thomas or Wyman remembering vampires, but I was concerned they would recall that Edmund had a daughter. If so, then Abbey could be in danger. It was bad enough we had to keep her well protected from anyone within our world. Case in point: individuals like Roman. Fuck, if he somehow found out about Abbey, he would stop at nothing to get his greasy criminal hands on her just to make a profit. The CIA wouldn’t be any different.
“Not to my knowledge,” Ben replied.
Tripp tipped his head at the door. “Time to get this show started.”
“I’ll meet you outside.” I glanced at the barista.
She beamed at me as I ambled up. “Change your mind on that coffee?”
I leaned over. “Actually….”
She met me halfway, curious to hear what I had to say.
I stared into her big brown eyes and erased any knowledge that she’d seen Ben, Tripp, and me. With that out of the way, the three of us dove into action.
Just before we entered the building, Tripp checked in with Olivia and Kraft and confirmed all was clear. Once inside the dingy hallway, Tripp and I sniffed and listened. It smelled like a family of cats had taken a piss in every corner.
I scrunched my nose to stave off the smell as Tripp raised two fingers to indicate two heartbeats. I looked around the staircase. A red exit sign flickered, and a set of mailboxes were built into the wall. I pointed up.
Once we were at the top of the landing, I sharpened my hearing.
“Layla, why aren’t you answering? I guess I’ll have to do the job myself.” Keys jangled.
Tripp and I grinned at one another as adrenaline surged through me. It was going to be fun to confront an old enemy.
We made our way around the banister to apartment three. No sooner than we approached, a short man came out, and suddenly the past hit me—Edmund Rain, my uncle Patrick, and the days on end when I’d been holed up in a cold, sterile lab while my uncle poked and prodded me.
I fisted my hands at my sides, ready to annihilate Agent Wyman. The lines denting the area around his dark eyes would only multiply when I got done with him.
Tripp forced him to retreat into his apartment. “Agent Wyman, right?”
The man stumbled backward, raising his hands, his skin turning white as the snow outside. “No. It’s Dowell. I don’t want any trouble.” He reeked of fear.
I closed us into the shithole he lived in—chipped paint on the walls, torn fabric on the couch, scratched coffee table, and trash that smelled like dead rats was piled high in the bin beside a small island.
Tripp backed him into one of three barstools, his fangs clicking into place. “Do you think we’re idiots? We know who you are. What the fuck do you want with Sam? Is this about revenge, or are you working for someone?” Tripp’s voice boomed. “Speak.”
He dropped his phone and keys. A sheen of sweat coated the man’s forehead as terror dripped off him. “What have you done with Layla?” Wyman stammered as his beady eyes darted from Tripp to me. “You better not have hurt her.”
My fangs shot out as I growled. “Layla isn’t your concern. Now start talking.” One bottle of blood earlier had not done the trick, though I wouldn’t be sinking my fangs into this human. His putrid odor burned the hairs in my nostrils and soured my stomach. “I compelled you to leave the city, yet you’re here and you remember me. How?” My elemental powers were teetering on the edge.
Tripp stepped an inch away from Wyman, scrutinizing him as we both waited for the man to speak.
Wyman’s Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed. “Two years ago—” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “—I overheard the name Mason in a conversation about vampires in this farm town in Montana. At first, I couldn’t place the name until I saw a picture of your father, who looks just like you. Then I remembered you staring at me in a conference room.”
“What else?” I asked.
He pressed his hands into the counter behind him, his pulse soaring into outer space. “Vampires exist. I’m not a CIA agent anymore. Not sure why. My wife had asked me why I moved the family to her sister’s house in Montana. I couldn’t give her an answer except it was time to live a quieter life. That’s it. I swear.” Ten more strands of his dark hair turned gray. I was exaggerating, but the dude was ready to piss his pants.
Tripp probed further. “Nothing else?”
Wyman’s heart rate began to slow. “Look, I’ve lost blocks of time. If you’re looking for something specific, I can’t help you.”
