"Uh, you guys," she said, feeling a little jolt of excitement and triumph as she read her friend's reply. "You know how you've been trying to get some intel on TerraGlobal Partners?"
"Dragos's corporate front," Dylan said, already coming over to see what Jenna had.
Alex and the other women were close behind her. "What's going on, Jen?"
"We're not the only ones interested in TerraGlobal." Jenna glanced up at the eager faces gathered around her. "An old buddy of mine in Anchorage ran a basic inquiry for me. He got a hit."
Savannah blew out a disbelieving laugh as she read the email message displayed on the monitor. "The FBI has an open investigation on TerraGlobal?"
"According to my friend, it's a relatively new one. It's being headed up by someone in their New York office."
Gabrielle gave Jenna an approving smile. "Nice work. We'd better go inform Lucan of what you've found."
The evening was only half over, but already he considered it a triumphant success.
In the dark of his private helicopter, Dragos smiled with deep satisfaction as his pilot guided the sleek aircraft away from the twinkling winter landscape of the busy capital city below and out over the dark water of the Atlantic, heading north, toward the second of his scheduled appearances tonight. He could hardly wait to arrive, anticipation for still another victory making his blood run faster in his veins.
For some time now, he had been cultivating his most useful allies, gathering his assets in preparation for the war he intended to wage, not only against his own kind--complacent, impotent cowards who deserved to be trampled under his boot--but also against the world at large.
Tonight's private receptions were crucial to his goals, and only the beginning of what would be a staggering offensive strike that he was preparing to deliver on both the Breed and humankind alike. If the Order feared that his grasp extended dangerously deep into the power brokers of the vampire race alone, they were in for a very rude awakening. And soon.
Very soon, he thought, chuckling to himself with eager glee.
"How long before we touch down in Manhattan?" he asked his Minion pilot.
"Fifty-two minutes, Master. We are right on schedule."
Dragos grunted his approval and relaxed into his seat for the remainder of the flight. He might have been tempted to call the evening flawless, if not for one small aggravation that stuck stubbornly in his craw--a bit of annoying news that had reached him earlier in the day.
Evidently some lowly desk jockey working for the Feds in Alaska was sniffing around in his business affairs, making inquiries about TerraGlobal Partners. For that, he blamed the Order. No doubt, it wasn't every day that a mining company--fake or otherwise--went up in a hellish ball of flames, as his little operation in the Alaskan interior had done at the hands of Lucan's warriors.
Now Dragos had the added irritation of having to contend with some public servant gas bag or environmental do-gooder trying to advance a career by going after a villainous corporation for God knew what offense.
Let them dig, he thought, smugly secure that he was free from any potential fallout. There were enough layers between himself and TerraGlobal to keep him insulated from nosy human law enforcement or interfering backwoods politicians. Failing that, he had assets in place who would ensure that his interests were protected. And, in the grander scheme, it didn't matter.
He was untouchable, more so every day.
Before long, he would be unstoppable.
That knowledge kept the edge out of his voice when his cell phone rang with a call from one of his key lieutenants. "Tell me where the operation stands."
"Everything is in order, sire. My men are embedded in positions as we discussed and ready to move forward with the plan for tomorrow at sundown."
"Excellent," Dragos replied. "Inform me when it is done."
"Of course, sire."
Dragos clapped the phone closed and slipped it back into his coat pocket. Tonight was a triumphant step toward attaining the golden future he had designed so long ago. But tomorrow's move against the Order--the viper's bite they would never see coming--was going to be an even sweeter victory.
Dragos let the thought settle over him as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the promise of the Order's imminent, final defeat.
Chapter Seventeen
Roughly an hour before dawn, Brock arrived back at the compound alone. He hated like hell to leave a patrol partner behind after a mission, but after a night of searching the city for Chase and coming up empty, he didn't see where he had much choice. Wherever Chase had run following his altercation with the Enforcement Agent earlier that night, he clearly didn't want to be found. It wasn't the first time he'd gone AWOL following patrols, but that didn't make his disappearance sit any better with Brock.
Concern for an MIA brother-in-arms hadn't put him in the best of moods as he opened the door to his shared quarters with Hunter and stepped inside the quiet, lightless room. At home in the dark, his vision sharper here than in the light, Brock peeled off his leather coat and draped it on the sofa before continuing on through the living area to the adjacent bunk room.
The place was so dark and silent, he'd assumed his roommate hadn't yet come in himself--until he entered the bedroom and got an immediate eyeful of full-body Gen One glyphs tracking the na**d male from neck to toe.
"Jesus Christ," Brock muttered, averting his gaze from the unexpected, and totally unwanted, full-frontal glimpse at his roomie. "What the hell, man?"
Hunter stood with his powerful back resting against the far wall, eyes closed. He was as still as a statue, breathing almost imperceptibly, his thickly muscled arms hanging loose at his sides. Although his lids flicked open at Brock's interruption, the immense, unreadable male didn't appear startled or even remotely disturbed. "I was sleeping," he said matter-of-factly. "I am rested now."