Jaguar Night (26 page)

That the gesture was necessary in the first place…it said too much about brevis regional these past years.

So Dolan didn’t demur, didn’t play nice. He said, “We’ll take lead, then.”

Lyn Maines didn’t seem the least surprised when he pulled the old Jeep Wrangler around the luxury SUV and crunched onto the narrow graveled shoulder beside her. She walked around to the passenger side and slid in, automatically hunting the seat belt.

“Doesn’t have one,” Dolan said. “Sorry about that. Best I could beg, borrow and nearly steal on short notice.”

“Under the circumstances, I’m just glad it’s fully enclosed.” Lyn settled into the seat with precision—not quite dressed for rugged terrain, though he had no doubt she could take it well in her natural form. “Jaguar?” she confirmed, glancing his way as the SUV rolled up behind them, a less-than-subtle nag. “I take the ocelot.”

Dolan grunted, uninterested in the small talk—especially when she spoke from behind a guarded mein. “What did Carter tell you? I’m an uncontrollable rogue? Can’t be trusted?”

She braced an arm against the door as Dolan accel
erated and moved up through the gears, not all of which took smoothly. “Almost the opposite. He said you could be trusted to do whatever it took to accomplish what you want done.”

Dolan snorted. “True enough.”

“He said you don’t spend any time at brevis. That they’re lucky to track you down if something comes up. That they can’t count on you to be available.”

He slanted a glance at her. She sat quietly, not the least disconcerted by their rough ride or the fact that for the moment, her fate was linked to the man she so dispassionately damned. “They might see it that way. I see it as getting things done.”

She caught his sideways glance and held it a moment, direct and comfortable with it. “And do you? Get things done?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do. Unless I’m caught waiting for a team from brevis.”

She didn’t flinch. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry it couldn’t be avoided.”

“Unless you’re the one who decided you were the only option for this team, then I’d say it’s probably Carter’s fault.” He bit down on the words, and this time she did flinch, ever so slightly. Ocelot. Sharp, quick grace. She probably used finesse, not power. But he couldn’t be sorry for what he’d said. If it opened her eyes a little, maybe she’d be prepared for the day it happened to her.

Instead, after a hesitation in which she seemed to be mulling over words, she said, “Brevis let you down, Dolan…there’s no arguing that. But if you spent enough time there to understand who you were working with…what’s going on right now…”

“I’ll send an e-mail sometime,” Dolan growled. “Right now, we’ve got a body to recover.”

“I know.” She looked away, out the window. “Someone you loved.”

That hurt too much to linger on, to even look at it straight-on. So he said, “Carter’s glad enough to go, to hunt intel on Gausto’s
sceleratus vis.”

“Scary bad stuff, sounds like,” she said, quite seriously. “Ruger’s the only one of us who’s even heard of it, and from what he says, everyone’s treated it as long lost and good riddance.”

He nodded, slowing as they approached a split in the road, then smoothly following her direction to head north toward Sonoita. “It’s bad,” he affirmed. “They got right through my personal wards. I should have been invisible to them, and impermeable to that attack—but I wasn’t, and I’m pretty sure this damned
sceleratus vis
is the reason why. They would have killed me if—”

But he stopped, because he didn’t want to talk about Meghan.

Make it count.

I will, Meghan. I will.
Because Dolan didn’t care about politics and balance and simmering cold war. He cared about stopping Gausto. Whatever it took.

They pulled up alongside the edge of the road, a mile from Sonoita and yet already out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by juniper-studded dry grasslands with weather-beaten ridges rising starkly all around them. The property of interest stood out like a sore thumb—landscaped with elms and willows and cottonwoods in the area between the road and the B and B
office, the long lane of the driveway full of cinder gravel and edged with worn split-rail fencing. Closer to the office was a patch or two of green, and a small riot of flowers provided a nod of color. Beyond was the housing—haphazardly placed minicottages and little adobe tourist homes. Rising beyond was a larger building—the original ranch house. Dolan eyed it.

“Yes,” Lyn said, opening the door and giving him one glance back before she exited the Jeep. “That’s where they are.”

He wouldn’t know for sure. Not without his connection to Meghan. He hadn’t expected to get used to it so quickly. Or feel its loss so sharply.

He shoved the door open. They wouldn’t go undetected for long—Gausto would have amulets seeded through this entire area—and that meant there was much to gain from decisive action. Carter seemed to know it; his own vehicle emptied rapidly, and he was already talking as Dolan approached. “Remember our goals here—we need evidence of the
sceleratus vis
—and if we’re going to develop countermeasures, we need to find all the information we can. We will avoid encounters if possible.” He looked at Dolan.
“All
of us.”

Dolan said nothing.

“We’ll move up to the buildings together—then Lyn and I will scout the area. We need to know the placement of their welcoming snares. We’ve got stun guns—” and Lyn’s silent companion, the man who took the tiger, tossed one to Dolan “—and we’ll secure the area as we go.”

Stun guns. Standard Sentinel gear. Easy to tuck away, quiet, nonlethal…and if one had to be left behind after a
change, it was a lot better than leaking handguns. All the same, if Dolan was going to get that close, he’d prefer to use claws. Hand to hand, the Sentinel nature prevailed.

He tucked the stun gun in his pocket, waited for Carter to finish his little spiel and moved out. He didn’t crowd them; he hung to the back, ranging out to the side, moving with the fast, fluid efficiency of his nature. Let them think he was playing their game.

For now.

Make it count.

And he would. Because he was exactly what Carter had said. A man who would do what needed to be done.

Chapter 23

N
oise filtered down to the cellar where Meghan waited. She’d been told to stay there. She’d been told not to hurt herself. She’d been told to eat and rest.

And Meghan obeyed.

She even realized, with remote surprise, how very little she thought about such complete obedience. There was no war within, no struggle to regain control. There was only a fleeting wistful awareness that she would choose to escape—and barring that, to pace and prowl, and barring that, to explore the corners of this cellar for anything useful.

Like the bare knife sitting over on that tray—still streaked with her blood, just as Gausto had left it—long blade curved to a wicked tip, beautiful in its workmanship. He’d traced designs across her flesh with that blade, reveling in its keen edge, in the lines of blood—in her
fear and pain. He’d left it there as a reminder, she was certain. Of his power, and of the futility of her efforts.

She’d given everything, and it hadn’t been enough.

Otherwise, it was just a cellar. An old barrel; old pallets leaning against the wall. An old wine rack, empty. And there, off to the side…a stout wooden worktable with arcane objects, notes and notebooks and vials and beakers. Gausto had made no attempt to hide its contents; he had no reason to. She was stuck on this cot, and could investigate no more closely.

Another thump from above—a scrape against the floor. She welcomed the distraction—something to which she could react. Gausto had not left directions on how she should respond to the noise of…was that a scuffle?

Dolan?

But she wasn’t permitted to reach out.

A man cried out, made a gargling noise and fell—directly overhead. Meghan sat up on the cot, and rebellion stirred within. It didn’t go anywhere, didn’t translate to so much as a twitch of directed movement. But she felt it flutter, and she embraced it.

Hasty steps hit the basement; after only a week with Dolan, they sounded clumsy to Meghan’s ears. She sat quietly as Gausto and his favorite lackey came down the second section of the switchbacked steps and reached the arched doorway, conversation in full swing.

“Are you sure—” the lackey asked, in the careful tone of a repeated query that he didn’t quite finish.

Gausto turned on him, stopping in the doorway and driving the man back a step. “You may not question me!”

Brave Man. Submissive, but persistent. “I haven’t
questioned the
sceleratus vis;
I haven’t questioned the acquisition of the girl. But now we’re under attack—”

“Then
listen.”
Gausto stabbed a finger at the man. “They’re only here because they’re scared. We’ve finally gained an undeniable advantage after all these years, and they know it. Once we learn the subtleties of the
sceleratus vis
—”

“But we haven’t,” the lackey said, determined and wary at the same time. “And I think we should withdraw so we’ll have time to do that.”

Gausto looked over his shoulder to Meghan. “I have what I need now. Did you pay no attention to what the probes revealed? This woman is a natural wards master—the daughter of the woman who hid the
Liber Nex.
” He glanced at his lackey to see that his words had hit home. “She is my weapon and my defense in one—and when we’re through here, she’ll take us to the book.”

“Drozhar
—”

The man would never get to finish a sentence, Meghan thought. Gausto strode away from him, to the middle of the cellar; he stabbed a gesture at the worktable there. Meghan’s impulse—to rise, to get a better look—manifested in nothing more than a twitch. Still, she managed a wince at the large crash directly above.

By then Gausto was speaking again—shouting, careless with his spittle and his zealous gestures. “This is the beginning! All these centuries, the Core has struggled to free itself from oppression by the Sentinels. Thanks to what we’ve done here—to what I’ll gain when I find the
Liber Nex
—we’ll no longer worry about them, or about anyone else. We can accumulate power across the globe!”

Meghan hadn’t planned it. Maybe if she had, if she’d thought about it, she wouldn’t have been able to do it at all. But in the silence that followed Gausto’s impassioned tirade, she found herself clapping. Slow, distinct—clap…clap…clap.

Gausto whirled on her. “Silence! Be still!”

Her hands fell back to her lap of their own volition—but had they not, she would have obeyed him regardless. His eyes were too wild, his face too out of control. Even the lackey moved back another step.

Moved back a step to where a dark, silent form dropped from above, leaping the stairwell to land crouched behind the man.
Dolan.
Human form but evocative of the jaguar, powerful and deadly. By the time the man reacted to Meghan’s widened eyes, Dolan, still crouching, jabbed something into the back of his knee. The man spasmed and cried out and went down, limbs jerky and flailing; Dolan avoided him, immediately targeting Gausto.

Meghan held her breath. Still silenced, still quiet on the cot, she fought tangled fear and relief—and thrilled to be feeling such sharp emotions at all. Dolan, with his blue eyes gone black in this light, his face full of intent and focus, approached Gausto with deadly fury barely banked and clearly visible. “Gausto,” he said, a growl, and struggled visibly for his next words. He held a stun gun, but it no longer seemed to be his weapon of choice; the fingers on his free hand flexed—putting out claws that were only phantom in this body. He showed no sign of noticing Meghan, obscured as she was behind the tray of instruments, unmoving and silent on all levels. He saw nothing but Gausto, so close—prey about to go down. “We thought you’d run.”

Gausto had gone from overwrought to calm, a transformation so quick and complete—and unnatural—that Meghan feared him anew. He had to know he couldn’t stand against Dolan; Dolan certainly did.

“I had no reason to run. Everything I need is right here.”

“What a coincidence. Everything I
want
is right here.” And yet still he didn’t see her…and still Meghan couldn’t speak, couldn’t move as Dolan eased closer. “Really don’t know what you were thinking, Gausto—your own people forbid what you’ve done here. They’re not going to climb down our throats for stopping you.”

“Do you think it’s that simple?” Gausto smiled, blocking Meghan from Dolan’s ready line of sight.

“I think you’re going down. That’s simple enough for me.”

Meghan found his grim smile frightening, scary in the way of a man who has little to lose. But Gausto said nothing. He smiled a tight, victorious little smile and took a deliberate step to the side, taking the instrument tray with him—leaving Meghan completely exposed. Leaving her perfectly positioned to know just when Dolan—

There. He saw her. He finally saw her. And though she wanted to get up and fling herself at him, though she wanted to reach out for him…she sat. But not perfectly still. Not perfectly controlled. Her fingers clenched at the side of the cot; her lower lip trembled.

Dolan froze, his expression gone blank in the face of the impossible, his eyes widening—and then came the disbelief, the pain of the conflict within. She tried to lift her hand, to reassure him.
It’s me,
she thought at him, but those thoughts stopped inside her own mind, dull
sendings that went nowhere even though her whole body now trembled with the effort.
It’s really me.

Dolan turned on Gausto, the vulnerable pain hardening into fury. “Don’t fuck with me,” he snarled. “You
killed her.
She’s
dead.”

“In point of fact, she killed herself.” Gausto gestured at her. “But as you can see, it didn’t quite take. Meghan, you may tell him.”

Something in her throat eased. But now that she had the chance, she didn’t begin to know what to say. Only after several attempts did she manage words. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he could—”