Camden.
Jesus, had it really been more than a year since his nephew's death?
It felt like a matter of days sometimes. Other times, like now, with his own feral reflection staring back at him, it felt like centuries had passed.
Ancient f**king history.
And he could hardly afford to stand around rehashing the past. Keep moving; that's the best thing he could do. And if he wanted a snowball's chance of beating back his hunger tonight, he'd better get his ass away from the general human population and find someplace to sweat it out alone. The way he was hurting - and the way his wounds were lingering, his body's healing in need of fresh red cells - it wasn't wise for him to be anywhere public.
Chase started to turn away, but through the pub windows, a flash of movement on one of the wall-mounted TV screens caught his eye. Behind a yammering blond news reporter covering a story from earlier that day, he caught a glimpse of silky caramel brown hair and a pretty face he recognized instantly.
Tavia Fairchild, being escorted out of a Boston office building by several police officers and federal agents sometime that morning.
Chase stared at her image on the screen. Her cheeks were slack, gaze stricken with shock and grief as law enforcement hurried her toward a waiting vehicle outside the government building. A ticker at the bottom of the news video confirmed the senator's killing and a suspect still at large. The video went split screen to show his mug shot, but Chase only glanced at it. His attention was fixed on something else - something that made his blood run cold in his veins. He peered closer at one of the cops who was taking Tavia out of the building. Not the detective from the station but another man - a uniformed officer with dark hair and the flat gaze of a mind slave. Holy hell. Just how deep did Dragos's reach go?
And what did it mean for Tavia Fairchild if his Minions were keeping her close in their sights?
It couldn't be good.
Chase's fury spiked as he watched the Minion cop put his hands on her to assist her into the vehicle - the same way it had spiked when he'd seen her stand next to Senator Clarence in the police station viewing room. Although he was far from being anyone's hero, Chase felt the tarnished inklings of his old sense of honor grind to life inside him when he thought of her being anywhere near Dragos or his legion of soulless servants.
The morning news report was easily eight hours old. Potentially eight hours that Tavia had been breathing the same air as the Minion cop who climbed into the car with her and the police detective and drove off. If Dragos had wanted to harm the woman, he'd had plenty of time to get it done. Not that Chase should be the one to save her. Hell, when it came right down to it, he doubted he could even save himself.
But that didn't keep his blood from surging with new purpose.
It didn't keep his feet from moving, stepping away from the pub and heading across the street for the shadows. He vanished into the gloom, all of his predatory focus rooted to a single goal: finding Tavia Fairchild.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Chase was crouched like a gargoyle at the edge of the Suffolk County Sheriff's Department rooftop, his eye trained on the employee parking lot below. After an end- of-shift parade of uniformed officers and shuffling office types trickled down to nil, his patience was strained and he was about two seconds away from storming the place to find the cop he was looking for. But then, at last, pay dirt. He recognized the middle-age police detective as soon as the human exited the building.
This was the man who'd been in the witness viewing room with Tavia Fairchild. The same man who'd accompanied her past the television news camera crews at the press conference that morning. Chase watched the human make his way across the lot toward his car. He aimed the little keyless remote in his hand and a rust-speckled silver Toyota sedan chirped halfway up the row.
Chase dropped down from the roof, his church donation box boots landing on the cold asphalt without a sound.
"Got time for a chat, Detective?" Chase was already in the passenger seat of the vehicle by the time the human had opened the driver's door and plopped down behind the wheel.
"Jesus Christ!" He jumped, panic flooding his jowly face. His cop instincts kicked in at the same time, sending his hands scrambling to the service revolver holstered at his hip.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Chase cautioned.
Apparently thinking better of it, the officer lunged for the door handle beside him. As if he stood any chance of escape. He hauled on the lever but it didn't release, even after repeated tries to work the electronic locks with his other hand. "Damn it!"
Chase stared at him, unfazed. "That'll do you no good either."
Nevertheless, Avery went another round on the locks and door handle, unaware that Chase was holding them closed by force of his Breed will. Then the aging cop suddenly got desperate and dropped his elbow on the horn. The cheery Japanese bleat shot loose like a scream before Chase seized the human's arm and wrenched him to full attention. "That was unwise."
"What're you gonna do? Fucking kill me right here in the parking lot?"
"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be sitting here about to piss yourself, Detective." "Oh, Jesus," Avery moaned. "What the hell is going on? What the hell is wrong with your face?"
In the reflection shining back at him from the glass of the driver's side window, Chase saw the twin coals of his eyes glowing fiery amber in the dark of the vehicle. He looked monstrous, feral. Unhinged. Nothing close to human. He ground his jaws together, feeling the tips of his fangs graze sharply against his tongue.
The glimpse of his reflection sent his mind careening back to another, similar moment from his recent past. Back then, little more than a year ago, Chase had been sitting in a darkened vehicle, eyes glowing and fangs drawn for the kill, as he stared into the terrified face of a human drug peddler who'd sent his nephew Camden into a narcotic-induced, tailspin addiction for blood.