could say anything back, Tyke snapped, “Call when you’ve got more.” The phone went dead.
Tempted to throw the goddamn phone, he simply ended the call and shoved it into his pocket. Being excluded from the group was the worst sort of punishment, and Landry knew that. He was part of the team, but at the same time not part of the team. He was exiled. Left to gather information, then pass it on to Tyke.
And it was killing him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to sit and watch others save the day. When he started something, he for damn sure finished it. And because of one stupid mistake with one beautiful woman, he was now on his own until he could prove to the director that he could listen to orders. That he could carry out his assignment without getting anyone killed.
He whirled from the window in search of something to take his mind off—
He took one step and froze. All thought about Tyke and his shitty comments evaporated as an eerie sensation crawled up his spine. The hair on his arms stood on end.
Someone was watching him.
He hated that feeling. Always had. As a Special Forces sniper, he’d been trained to blend in, go unnoticed for hours, even days. Now, standing out in the open, it made him seethe with anger. He loathed being spotted when he didn’t choose to be.
Casually, as not to tip off his prowler, Ash proceeded up the stairs to the front bedroom overlooking the street. Standing at the edge of the window, out of plain sight, he scanned the area. The street was clear except for the usual neighborhood cars. Using the light from the street lamps, he searched trees and row house windows, paying special attention to the second story. A professional would be up high to make sure he had the tactical advantage.
Where are you, you son of a bitch?
Then he saw it.
A red blinking light. In the top left window of the house across the street. The same house Blondie had gone to after their incident with the Vamper this morning. An older woman around Maybel’s age had opened the door. Ash had written the exchange off, given the older woman’s surprised reaction when she’d opened the door. But now, he was starting to think there was more to the story than just Blondie telling her neighbor about a drug addict.
Locating his night-vision binoculars, he focused on the group of bodies standing behind the light. Five women— women! —two of whom he recognized. The first was the pushy one with the dog. And the second was Blondie.
He groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.” Who the hell were these women?
Definitely not cops. They couldn’t be, right? Apart from Blondie, the rest were as old as Maybel.
If he didn’t get these women off his back, his cover wouldn’t last another day. Landry would quarantine his ass behind a desk for the rest of his miserable career. Christ, Tyke would have a field day if he heard a bunch of grannies duped Ash. Obviously ignoring the women hadn’t helped.
Maybe he needed to do the opposite.
Within seconds, he hatched a plan. If old women had nothing else, they at least had propriety. And he was going to exploit the hell out of it.
A harsh cackle tore from his chest as he thought about the ridiculous length he was about to go to save his career.
Chapter Six
Sam couldn’t breathe. No scratch that, she was panting. No, she was suffocating.
Heinrich?
He’d mentioned Heinrich—the same dirtbag drug dealer who had been involved in her father’s disappearance. Her pulse leapt, pounding against her skin. What did that have to do with her neighbor? Was he involved in a deal with Heinrich? Or worse, was he working for Heinrich? Did he know anything about her father?
Sam and the grannies heard everything he’d said. The red and black eyes. Chalky skin. Club Hell.
Then nothing.
The women huddled on folding chairs in Rose’s narrow spare bedroom, situated at the front of the house. It was the room Sam used to stay in when her dad was on assignment. The same daybed with pink lace
Tempted to throw the goddamn phone, he simply ended the call and shoved it into his pocket. Being excluded from the group was the worst sort of punishment, and Landry knew that. He was part of the team, but at the same time not part of the team. He was exiled. Left to gather information, then pass it on to Tyke.
And it was killing him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to sit and watch others save the day. When he started something, he for damn sure finished it. And because of one stupid mistake with one beautiful woman, he was now on his own until he could prove to the director that he could listen to orders. That he could carry out his assignment without getting anyone killed.
He whirled from the window in search of something to take his mind off—
He took one step and froze. All thought about Tyke and his shitty comments evaporated as an eerie sensation crawled up his spine. The hair on his arms stood on end.
Someone was watching him.
He hated that feeling. Always had. As a Special Forces sniper, he’d been trained to blend in, go unnoticed for hours, even days. Now, standing out in the open, it made him seethe with anger. He loathed being spotted when he didn’t choose to be.
Casually, as not to tip off his prowler, Ash proceeded up the stairs to the front bedroom overlooking the street. Standing at the edge of the window, out of plain sight, he scanned the area. The street was clear except for the usual neighborhood cars. Using the light from the street lamps, he searched trees and row house windows, paying special attention to the second story. A professional would be up high to make sure he had the tactical advantage.
Where are you, you son of a bitch?
Then he saw it.
A red blinking light. In the top left window of the house across the street. The same house Blondie had gone to after their incident with the Vamper this morning. An older woman around Maybel’s age had opened the door. Ash had written the exchange off, given the older woman’s surprised reaction when she’d opened the door. But now, he was starting to think there was more to the story than just Blondie telling her neighbor about a drug addict.
Locating his night-vision binoculars, he focused on the group of bodies standing behind the light. Five women— women! —two of whom he recognized. The first was the pushy one with the dog. And the second was Blondie.
He groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.” Who the hell were these women?
Definitely not cops. They couldn’t be, right? Apart from Blondie, the rest were as old as Maybel.
If he didn’t get these women off his back, his cover wouldn’t last another day. Landry would quarantine his ass behind a desk for the rest of his miserable career. Christ, Tyke would have a field day if he heard a bunch of grannies duped Ash. Obviously ignoring the women hadn’t helped.
Maybe he needed to do the opposite.
Within seconds, he hatched a plan. If old women had nothing else, they at least had propriety. And he was going to exploit the hell out of it.
A harsh cackle tore from his chest as he thought about the ridiculous length he was about to go to save his career.
Chapter Six
Sam couldn’t breathe. No scratch that, she was panting. No, she was suffocating.
Heinrich?
He’d mentioned Heinrich—the same dirtbag drug dealer who had been involved in her father’s disappearance. Her pulse leapt, pounding against her skin. What did that have to do with her neighbor? Was he involved in a deal with Heinrich? Or worse, was he working for Heinrich? Did he know anything about her father?
Sam and the grannies heard everything he’d said. The red and black eyes. Chalky skin. Club Hell.
Then nothing.
The women huddled on folding chairs in Rose’s narrow spare bedroom, situated at the front of the house. It was the room Sam used to stay in when her dad was on assignment. The same daybed with pink lace
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