Moon Sworn

Chapter 15

Twelve hours later, with Evin and Lyndal safely tucked away in the West pack’s heartland and with Harris’s promise to keep them safe at all cost, Quinn and I walked into the day division’s tiny conference room.

Sal was the only other person who’d arrived, and she was working at the terminal and frowning at the images flickering across the remote screen. She spun around as we entered, and her smile was wide and genuine.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our lost wolf,” she said, voice droll but humor crinkling her eyes. “Enjoy your holiday, did you?”

“Totally.” I plunked down on the chair next to hers. “I’d love to say I missed your cheery face, but the truth is, I couldn’t even remember it.”

“I heard that. Shame you didn’t also forget you worked for the Directorate. It’s been so peaceful around here without you.”

I grinned. “So you were bored shitless, huh?”

“Totally. So do try not to get kidnapped again.” She glanced at Quinn, and her expression became more formal—which surprised the hell out of me. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

I glanced at him as she rose and walked across to the coffee machine—which was sparkly new, and had obviously been installed during the time I’d been missing.

I’m an old one, he said, the amusement that had been barely evident in his words bubbling through his mental tones. Sal’s merely showing the respect we old ones are due.

I gave a mental snort and he added, with another burst of amusement, Of course, it also helps that she’s been asked to become an official member of the Melbourne vampire council and I happen to be one of those who have the deciding vote.

But Sal hates the council. She said that months ago.

Things change. In this case, I believe the change of heart goes by the name of Norman.

Norman? What a staid old name. I hope he’s not.

Oh, trust me, Norman’s not staid.

Well, good, because she deserves better.

Careful. That almost sounds like you care.

She’s bringing me coffee. Of course I care. I glanced around as said coffee was plunked in front of me and I gave her another grin. “Should I inspect it for arsenic?”

“In deference to you being returned to the fold, I left it out. But don’t drink tomorrow’s coffee.” Her tone was amused as she handed Quinn his coffee then headed back to her computer.

I took a sip, then asked, “Why are you fiddling with the computers in here?”

“It’s quieter. Jack doesn’t want anything distracting me once the operation starts.”

A comment that would no doubt be explained once Jack got here. As if on cue, he and Rhoan walked in, both of them looking tired and more than a little rough around the edges. Both carried large cups of coffee, although given the bags under my brother’s eyes, it was going to take more than a bucket of the brown stuff to keep him awake and alert.

“Got the systems hooked up yet, Sal?” Jack asked.

“Finalizing it now,” she said briskly. “Just a few minutes more.”

Jack grunted and slapped several folders on the desk as he sat down opposite us. Rhoan just perched on the table’s edge, his posture reflecting his tiredness. Obviously, he couldn’t be bothered walking any farther.

“Remember me saying that I thought the name Daskill sounded familiar?”

I nodded, and he pushed a folder forward. Quinn stopped its slide across the desk and opened it. I’d been expecting a rundown of whoever Daskill was, but what we got instead were photographs. Vivid, bloody photographs of the remains of what I presumed were a woman and child. They’d been so torn apart it was hard to tell. Only the remnants of their nightdresses gave their sex away.

“Bobby Daskill’s wife and child were murdered in their beds while he was on a business trip. The main suspect was Bobby’s business partner, Henry Kattram, who had apparently been having an affair with Bobby’s wife for over a year. She refused to leave Bobby and apparently broke it off. Those pictures are the result.”

“Then why is Kattram still listed as a suspect?” Quinn asked. “Why was he never charged if the police are so certain he was their murderer?”

“Because Henry Kattram was found dismembered in his bed twenty-four hours later.” Jack indicated the photos.

“In a manner eerily similar to the way Jenny and Evie Daskill were killed.”

“Daskill obviously was the main suspect, so why was he never charged?” I asked.

“Because he was one hundred miles away with friends at his country retreat. One of those friends was a high court judge.”

“Convenient,” Quinn murmured. “But from what I’ve heard about Kattram, he’d be the sort to have closed circuit TV both inside and outside. What did that reveal?”

“A shadowy figure wearing a mask, gloves, and some sort of shoe covering.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Surely not a demon costume?”

Jack half smiled. “No. It was just a black mask and padded clothing, but the idea is the same. If they leave no prints, and you can’t see their face or body shape, it’s hard to make any sort of ID.”

Quinn closed the folder and pushed it back to Jack. “If he is behind these murderers for hire, he surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to use his own planes or helicopters.”

“He might if it was an emergency and there was no obvious link back to him. Daskill owns a private jet and helicopter charter service catering to remote areas. The helicopter Harris downed was hired by one Harry Jones—who is not the vamp and who actually doesn’t exist.”

“Charter services these days have to have cameras and facial recognition software installed in their offices, so what did that come up with?”

“Again, nothing. We suspect he might have been a Helki wolf, because the one capture we got of his face showed their distinctive eyes.”

I nodded. If you were going to use fake ID, then what better person to use than someone who could physically alter their human shape? Not so much their size or actual shape, but their physical characteristics. Hair, minor facial shifts, teeth, easy stuff like that. They could also change their eye color, but that apparently took more effort and drained their energy faster. “So what’s the plan? We have no obvious connection to the man, just our suspicions.”

And Jack never moved on suspicions alone. Well, rarely, anyway.

He gave me the sort of smile that a shark might have a heartbeat before he attacked. “Every bad guy makes one mistake. In Daskill’s case, he keeps records.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’d imagine such records would be extremely well protected.”

“They are, but we have some of the world’s best hackers in our employ.” He glanced Sal’s way. “Sal, for instance, is a genius at hacking into security-sensitive areas.”

“Which I’ve just completed.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We now control Daskill’s security systems in both his house and his Melbourne office.”

“Excellent. And the computer files?”

“Randy is still downloading. There’s a lot of information, and it’s all coded.” She paused, glancing briefly at the screen and flicking a button. The screen divided into four, each one showing a different section of what looked to be a grand mansion. “Initial investigations on one of the earliest files downloaded indicate intensive records concerning the movements of a man who was found murdered three days after his release from jail. If he isn’t the brains behind this scheme, he’s certainly involved.”

“And that is all we need to go in and get him.” Jack glanced at me. “Daskill has been going home to have lunch with his new wife every day between one and two-thirty—”

“Obviously he doesn’t trust the new missus not to take a lover,” I murmured. “Which says a lot about the power of his loving. Or the lack of it.”

Maybe he just fancies his new missus, Quinn commented, eyes twinkling as he glanced at me. Hell, when the company is fully transferred to Melbourne, expect me to be breaking up a boring day by coming home for a quick bit of loving quite frequently.

That’s because you hang out with a werewolf, and the randiness has finally rubbed off.

“The reason doesn’t matter, just the result,” Jack said. “He has a security force of eight men who rotate on twelve-hour shifts, as well as the cameras.”

“Having eight security guards on standby is a bit of overkill, isn’t it?” Rhoan said, frowning. “Even for a man whose first wife was murdered.”

“They work in teams of four,” Jack said, “which makes the numbers more even. And given he’s either in charge of, or involved with, an organization that runs a stable of some extremely well-trained hit men and women, then no, I wouldn’t think his precautions are over the top.”

“If we move on Daskill, that stable of killers may just melt into the woodwork.”

Jack glanced at me. “He’s the brains and the money behind it, so he’s the one we need to take out first. The others can be found in time.”

Fair enough. “Then what’s the plan?” He obviously had one, because he wouldn’t have called Quinn here otherwise.

“We’re going in at one-thirty. Quinn will take out the guards, as neither myself nor any of the other guardians is able to venture out at that hour.”

Even Quinn was pushing it.

I’ll be fine, he said. At worst, it’ll give me a nice tan for our wedding night.

You’ll be naked on your wedding night. No one is going to care about your tan.

I’ll be wearing trousers. I may not be quite as old-fashioned as I used to be, but Liander is not going to get the joy of a full frontal. Not when I’m getting hitched.

Amusement bubbled through me. Who said I was talking about the ceremony?

“Riley,” Jack said heavily, “stop mind-talking to Quinn and concentrate on the business at hand.”

“It takes two to talk,” I commented. “And I am listening.”

He gave me a disbelieving look, then continued. “You and Rhoan will hit the house once the guards are taken out. He does keep two rottweilers inside, so you’ll have to watch out for those.”

“A good stun gun will fix those quickly enough,” Rhoan said dryly. “But someone this security conscious is going to have standby systems we don’t know about.”

“And a gun by the bed, no doubt,” I said.

“No doubt, so be careful.” Jack was looking at me rather than Rhoan when he said that, which wasn’t exactly fair. Rhoan tended to be more reckless. The only problem was, the bad guys just didn’t seem to enjoy munching on his body as much as they did mine.

Jack opened another folder and passed several sheets of paper to me and Rhoan. “These are the house plans. Memorize the layout while you’re heading down to the armory.”

Rhoan barely even looked at them before standing, but he was good enough at his job that he probably didn’t need more than that. “Which we’d better do now if we want to get to Brighton with sufficient time to spare.”

“Just weapons,” Jack warned. “Don’t grab body armor. If some overwatchful guard spots you before you near the property, we don’t want them suspecting anything is up.”

“The minute we drive up with Directorate plates, any watchful guard is going to know the jig is up,” I commented. “And we have body armor? Why was I never told?”

“Which is why we’ll be using false plates. Be down in the parking garage in—” He hesitated and glanced at his watch “—ten minutes. And you’ve never been given body armor because someone who can move with the speed of a vampire rarely has any use for it. It’s for nonguardian personnel, like the cleanup teams.”

He’d obviously forgotten about all the bullet holes I had in my body. “I’ve never seen Cole or his team in them.”

“No, but they have them in their cars.” He glanced at Sal. “Keep me updated on any movements. Quinn and Riley, you’ll need to be fitted with external earpieces, seeing we haven’t the time to fit internals to either of you.”

For which I was extremely glad—and not only because my poor ears were still recovering from the previous ones being hacked out.

Jack rose and headed out the door. I glanced at Quinn. “Do you want a gun, as well?” Jack hadn’t suggested that, but I couldn’t see him objecting.

“I’d rather not.” He touched a hand to my back to guide me out the door, and a warm shiver ran down my spine. But it wasn’t really sexual, more a rightness. A feeling of being protected.

And that was nice.

We headed down to the armory to suit up, and ten minutes later were down in the underground parking lot climbing into unmarked Directorate cars.

The drive to Brighton was quick. Daskill’s house was located in Cosham Street, which, according to those in the know—namely Quinn and Jack—was one of the area’s most sought-after streets.

And that in itself had to be a pointer to the fact that he was making his money via means other than the aircraftfor-hire business. The current downturn in the economy meant airlines the world over were suffering from a lack of passengers. Even Quinn’s business had nosedived—but he’d been around long enough to have investments in lots of different arenas. Daskill hadn’t—although if he was behind the murder operation, I guess it could be said that he had diversified.

We pulled up several houses away, Jack in an SUV and the rest of us in a black four-door sedan that didn’t look out of place in this neighborhood. The street was lined with old trees and the houses were a mix of old and new. Daskill’s was the latter—a series of big white concrete and glass boxes surrounded by a huge, black concrete fence. Even from where we sat in the car, the security cameras were very noticeable. His wasn’t the only house in the street that had them, either.

Most of the houses were on regular-size lots, but Daskill had obviously bought up the residences to either side of him, because if the sheer length of the fence was anything to go by, there had to be at least an acre of land behind it.

Quinn touched his ear lightly, his expression intense as he listened to Jack speaking through the earpiece. His face held a slight sheen thanks to all the sunscreen he’d lathered on—mine probably did, too. With my skin still so sensitive to sunlight, I thought I’d better start protecting myself. I just had to hope that it didn’t develop into something deadly. The one vampire condition I didn’t want was their need to stay out of sunlight. Well, that and the need to drink blood.

I could hear Jack’s voice echoing lightly, but it wasn’t clear enough to understand. A second later, Quinn leaned forward and kissed me. “We’re a go. Jack will contact you when I’ve taken down all the guards.”

I ran my fingers lightly through his silky hair, taking care not to touch any skin and disturb the sunscreen. “Be careful.”

“There are only four of them. Piece of cake.” He smiled and winked, then climbed out of the car.

I leaned forward, watching him stroll casually toward the big black fence. The security cameras were rotating, but away rather than toward him. He glanced around, then with a leap any shifter or wolf would be proud of, disappeared over the fence.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding, and Rhoan glanced at me. “He’ll be fine.”

“I know. The man was a cazador, after all.” And four security guards, however well trained, weren’t going to present much of a problem for a man who spent hundreds of years as a hit man for the vampire council. “It doesn’t stop the worry.”

“Then you know what he goes through every time you walk out the door.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Now, there’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I was a guardian when Liander met me. He knew going in what he was getting into.”

“I still worked for the Directorate. I handled the care and feeding of a boatload of vampires. That’s not a riskfree job.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But it doesn’t exactly hold the same level of danger as being a guardian, does it?”

“No.” I drew in a breath and released it slowly. “Which is why I’m talking to Jack once this job is over.”

“Talking to Jack about what?” Jack said, into my ear.

I jumped. The external earpieces were so comfortable, I’d totally forgotten they were in.

“It’s not important right now,” I said. “Have you got any word on Quinn’s progress?”

“Two guards are down, and he’s just tackling the third now.” He paused. “The third one is down.”

“And the last?”

“Inside the main house. We can’t risk trying to draw him out and alerting Daskill, so Rhoan, you slip in through the back and take care of him. Riley, your task is Daskill. He’s upstairs with his wife.”

Great. Just what I need to see—a bad guy having sex. “I’m gathering all security will be down by the time we get to the doors?”

“Sal’s finishing it now. She reverse-coded, so it’ll appear on when it’s off.”

“Give me a few minutes to get around the back,” Rhoan said, his hand on the car door handle. “And be careful.”

“If one more person says that to me,” I said, an edge in my voice, “I’m going to punch them.”

He merely smiled. “We just got you back. Give it a week and we’ll be back to our uncaring selves.”

I snorted and pushed him lightly. “Get out and go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to the real business at hand.”

The amusement fell from his eyes. He knew just what that involved. And, like me, he wasn’t happy about it—

even though it had become a necessity if we were ever to live free of Blake’s shadow.

He touched a hand lightly to my cheek, then opened the door and climbed out. Like Quinn, he disappeared easily and quickly over the wall.

I glanced at my watch and waited a couple of minutes, then grabbed the car keys, climbed out, and locked up. This might be a posh area, but that didn’t mean unlocked cars were any safer.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt and strolled toward the fence. The damn thing towered over me, and, wolf or not, I had trouble just grabbing the top, let alone hauling my ass over the edge.

I really needed to work on my upper body strength, I thought, as I landed rather inelegantly on the other side.

The lawns were landscaped and there wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen, but the shiny white rocks clashed nicely with the green and red cordylines and native wild grasses.

My skin crawled with sudden awareness, and I glanced around to see Quinn walking through the shadow provided by the towering fence. Although walking was something of a misnomer—gliding would have been more apt.

Rhoan’s in the house. He stopped beside me, his gaze on the house. Daskill and his wife are still upstairs. There is a second life-form on the ground floor.

I cursed softly. Besides the guard, you mean?

Yeah. I suspect it’s either the butler or the chef. I know Daskill employs both.

Lazy bastard.

Amusement played around his mouth. The mega-rich do like their little treats. And he probably won’t live long enough for them to get old.

There was no probably about that.

Okay, he added, the guard is down. Rhoan is moving to the back of the house. Time for you to go.

I blew him a kiss, then ran across the carefully manicured garden, my steps so fast and light I didn’t disturb any of the rocks.

The security box near the front door sat in the alarmed position, and I hesitated fractionally before grabbing the handle and opening the door. No alarms sounded. Sal had done her job well.

I closed the door and looked around to get my bearings. The entrance hall looked bigger in life than it had on the plans, the ceiling double height and dominated by a massive gold chandelier. Four doors led off the entrance and a glass staircase complete with a gold banister curved its way up to the first floor. The scent of unknown werewolf was coming from the living area, which was the door on my immediate right, and from the back of the house came Rhoan’s familiar tang as well as the soft hint of roses. Given that it was accompanied by the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread, I was betting it belong to the chef.

I headed for the stairs. Rhoan reappeared as I reached for the banister, and I raised an eyebrow in question. He raised a finger, then folded it half down. Meaning the chef was out for the count.

And if the crumbs on his shirt were anything to go by, so was whatever he was baking.

We climbed the stairs swiftly but silently. There were six doors leading off the overly large hallway, one of which was the bathroom, one a study, and the others were bedrooms. Daskill’s was the last one on the left.

We crept forward, every step swallowed by the lush thickness of the carpet. Obviously, no one had told him shag pile had gone out of fashion with the Dark Ages.

There wasn’t a whole lot of noise coming out of the bedroom. Daskill and his wife were obviously quiet types. Either that, or they’d finished—although the scent of lust and desire riding the air was increasing, not fading.

I glanced over my to brother and motioned to the other side of the double door frame. He nodded and moved past me, his movements a blur as he raced across the open space.

There was still no indication that Daskill and his missus had any idea something was wrong.

Rhoan raised three fingers and began counting them down. I got my laser out but didn’t fire it up. The damn things were noisy and, in the hush surrounding us, would have been too obvious.

The last finger went down. We moved as one into the room, Rhoan going to the right and me to the left. Like everything else in the house, the bedroom was white and gold. The only spot of color was Daskill’s ass, and the black and silver of the guns sitting on either bedside table.

Daskill really didn’t like to take chances.

She saw us first, and her eyes went wide. As she opened her mouth to scream, I fired up the laser and heard its echo from the other side of the room.

“Bobby Daskill,” I said, slipping my free hand into my pocket and withdrawing my ID. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. Please move away from your wife and stand with your hands up.”

For the barest of moments, he froze. Then he did the stupidest thing possible and lunged for his weapon. I fired, as did Rhoan. The twin beams of light cut across the room, hitting Daskill’s reaching hand. The smell of burning flesh stung the air as the lasers severed then cauterized the first three fingers on his left hand.

His screams joined his wife’s. Rhoan glanced at me, his expression one of disgust as he shook his head and walked forward. That’s when the wife moved. One minute she was screaming like a banshee, and the next she had a gun in her hand and was aiming it at Rhoan’s head. There was no time for finesse. I simply shot.

I meant to get her hand, but she was moving too fast, and the beam took off her arm instead. Her severed limb plopped inelegantly to the bed, and the weapon—thanks to the fact that her finger was still curled around the trigger—fired. The bullet skimmed past Rhoan’s nose and thudded into the wall behind him.

The wife went back to screaming. High-pitched, wailing sounds of horror, but I wasn’t feeling any sympathy. Not when the bitch had just tried to kill my brother.

He glanced at me, blinking, the tip of his nose somewhat blackened. “Damn, that was close.”

“Totally.” I strode forward, grabbed Daskill by the scruff of his neck, and dragged his wobbly pink butt off the bed. “Bobby Daskill, consider yourself under arrest. Now get your scrawny ass down those stairs.”

“But I’m naked—”

“Like I care.” I pushed him toward the door, my finger still on the trigger and the laser whining ominously at his back.

Rhoan hauled the still-screaming woman up by her good arm, grabbed the sheet, and threw it roughly around her body. Then, with his hand still clamped around hers, he forced her to march forward.

We headed down the stairs, then outside. I couldn’t sense Quinn near, but almost before I could form a question, his thoughts were flowing through my mind. I’m in the car. Things were getting a little warm, even with the protection of the sunscreen and the shade of the wall.

So do you brown or do you peel?

Brown. If a vampire burns, it usually results in the death of said vampire.

Well, I don’t want you dead before I swear to you, so good move.

His laughter ran through my mind, warm and light.

Daskill had finally realized we were going out into the main street and balked as we neared the gate. But a hard nudge in the back with the laser soon put an end to that.

The two vans sat several houses away, one holding Jack and the banks of computers that were controlling Daskill’s security system, and the other for the transfer of our prisoners.

The prisoner van door opened as we approached, and the stench of vampire wafted out. There were at least three guardians inside. Jack wasn’t taking any chances.

We handed over our prisoners and stepped back as the door slammed shut. Even though the van was reinforced, I could still hear the wife’s screaming as the vehicle took off.

“Well, that was almost easy,” Rhoan said, sounding more than a little peeved.

“And it makes a nice change,” I said, rubbing my arms. The time had come to talk to Jack, and I really wasn’t looking forward to it.

I can—Quinn started.

No, I said firmly. This is for me to do.

“Riley, Rhoan,” Jack said into my ear. “Go through Daskill’s house and see what you can find. Another van is on the way to take care of the guards. They’ll remain neutralized until then.”

Meaning Quinn had messed with their minds and told them to stay. I pressed the little earpiece and said, “I need to talk to you first, boss.”

He hesitated, then said, almost reluctantly, “Come on in, then.”

Rhoan gave me a smile and a quick shoulder squeeze for support, then spun around on his heel and headed back to the house. I took a deep breath that did little to calm the twisting in my belly, then strode forward determinedly.

I slid open the van door, stepping inside and shutting it quickly so there was no risk of sunlight touching Jack. Not that it would have, given he was down at the far end of the van, sitting in front of a bank of monitors.

“What is it, Riley?” he said without looking up.

“I don’t want to be a guardian anymore.” I said it in a rush, because any other way and the words would have stuck in my throat.

He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands, crossing his fingers on the top of his head. There was little surprise in the green of his eyes.

“You can’t leave the Directorate. The drugs are still affecting you, and we have no idea what direction the changes are likely to take.”

That sick feeling in my stomach increased, rising up my throat and momentarily preventing me from breathing. It was all going to hell—all my hopes and dreams of walking away turning to ashes simply because I knew what he was saying was true. And yet, that stupid, stubborn part of me refused to give up. “But—”

“There are no buts on this,” he said heavily. “We have no idea what might happen, and it’s simply too dangerous for everyone around you to let you go unmonitored.”

“There has to be some sort of middle ground, Jack.” I said it softly, without the desperation burning through me.

“I’ve given up so many of my hopes and dreams in the last few years that I really don’t want to give up any more. I want to live long enough to see my babies grow. And we both know that isn’t going to happen if I remain a guardian.”

“Riley,” he said, voice gentle, “you were growing weary of being my assistant when you actually were. Now that you’re a trained hunter, I very much doubt you could go back so easily to office work.”

Maybe. Maybe not. But he wasn’t saying no outright, so there was still some degree of hope left.

“Jack, I can’t continue like this. I won’t.”

“You know the choice, Riley. It’s us or the military.”

So much for hope. I stared at him for a moment, mouth drier than the Simpson Desert. “Is that a threat?”

He returned my stare, his green eyes showing little in the way of compassion. Not giving in, not giving up. “No. I’m merely stating your options. They haven’t changed. They will never change.” He paused. “The military has been keeping an eye on you.”

I clenched my fists and battled to remain calm—battled not to show the fear clawing away at my insides. Which was useless, given that he was a vampire and would sense it regardless. He couldn’t help it when my pulse was racing at a million miles an hour.

“You can’t make me do either,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice was that was part fury, part fear. “I’ll fight you, I’ll fight the Directorate, I’ll even fight the entire Australian military if I have to.”

“Riley,” he said softly. “You may be a strong telepath, but so am I, and so is Director Hunter.”

“And so is Quinn,” I retorted. “Do not think I’ll be alone in any battle.” Because if he tried anything like that, he’d not only lose me, but Quinn, Rhoan, and Dia, as well.

And he knew it. The frustrated anger that just about fried my skin said as much.

“What about a compromise?” I said, desperately battling the urge to cross my fingers. To pray to the gods I didn’t believe in.

“What kind of compromise?”

“You have specialist consultants on the books. Dia’s one. Why can’t I be another?”

“Meaning,” he said slowly, “you’d be willing to come to murder scenes whenever required, to talk to souls?”

“Yes.” I wouldn’t like it, but I’d do it if it meant not having to risk life and limb every single day of my life as a guardian.

He studied me for a moment, as if judging my seriousness, then said, “That is a risk in itself. We both know that.”

Yes, talking to souls was a risk. They could drain me to the point that I might not be strong enough to get back from their realms. But the key here was finding a solution that suited us both—and offsetting a greater risk for a smaller one was one of those.

“It’s the lesser of two evils, Jack, and it gives us both something we want.” And it gave me the chance of an almost normal life. It gave me the ability to raise Liander and my babies and be a steady, regular influence in their lives.

He studied me for several more—very long—minutes, then a small smile touched his lips. “I knew this was coming. Especially given you’ve found your own replacement.”

Hope bubbled through me, but I stamped down on it. Hard. I knew fate well enough not to trust her so easily.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s more an ‘I could live with a deal like that.’” He hesitated and studied me grimly. “Which is not to say that Director Hunter will.”

“But you’ll support the idea in principle?”

“Riley, I am many things, but I am not stupid. And I do not want to destroy what is left of the daytime division.” He smiled grimly, then added, “Nor do I wish to go to war with a man who was the finest cazador the council ever produced.”

I let go a whoop they would surely have heard in Sydney, then leapt forward, throwing myself into Jack’s arms. He caught me with a grunt, but his laughter ran all around me.

“Don’t get your hopes too high. As I said, it’ll still have to go before Director Hunter for final approval.”

“I know, I know.” But if Jack approved it, that was three-quarters of the battle. The Directorate might be his sister’s, but the guardian division was his.

“Then untangle your arms from around my neck and go help your brother clean up the house. Consider it your last official duty as a guardian.” He hesitated, green eyes suddenly serious. “Unless, of course, you want official status when you confront the bastard who kidnapped you.”

I stepped back, my joy suddenly tempered. “We’re going to do it on Jenson lands. Pack law will apply.”

He half nodded. “It still won’t hurt to have the Directorate behind you. After all, he kidnapped Evin and his mate, kidnapped and mind-washed you, and damn near killed Quinn. His death is slated. So, if you like, that can be your last official task.”

“And it doesn’t matter which way I choose to apply it?”

“I don’t give a damn, as long as the bastard dies.”

“He will. He has to.”

Jack nodded. “Then go help your brother, and I’ll get the paperwork started. For both things.”

“Thanks, Jack. You’re the best.”

I leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and damned if he didn’t blush. “Just go, and let me get some work done.”

I grinned and all but bounced out of the van.

One more thing to attend to, and then my life was finally mine.

If I survived the encounter with Blake, that was.