On Midnight Wings

He couldn’t believe his luck. With Heather Wallace found, there was no longer any need to go back into the searing chaos that comprised the creawdwr’s mind.

Hey, motherfucker. I don’t remember inviting you.

All he needed to do now was intercept Heather and sever the bond she shared with Dante. A bullet fired into her skull would do the trick nicely. And Teodoro knew just the person who could accomplish both.

Caterina Cortini—an assassin for the SB and, quite possibly, their very best wetwork expert, period. The attractive brunette was much more than a killer who neatly wrapped up other people’s loose ends. She was also the mortal daughter of Renata Alessa Cortini, a vampire’s child of the heart.

And a spy for Dante Baptiste.

Or so she had been, until Teodoro had captured her while she was engaged in a bit of self-assigned and extremely unsanctioned wetwork. Once he’d sunk his mental fingers deep into Caterina’s mind, Teodoro had learned—among so many other fascinating things—that the dark-haired assassin had laid her gun at Dante Baptiste’s bare feet and sworn complete loyalty to him.

A fact that Teodoro had taken advantage of immediately.

He’d carefully seeded false information into Caterina’s mind—information transforming Heather Wallace from Dante’s lover into an undercover agent for the Bureau, a coldhearted betrayer of the True Blood prince and creawdwr that Caterina had vowed to protect.

Now Caterina was also Teodoro’s deadly little puppet.

A puppet he was about to spin into motion.

Striding across the threshold into his office, Teodoro caught a faint but fragrant whiff of frankincense, anise, and paint from the angel trap he’d painted on the floor from the threshold to his desk—just in case Dante Baptiste or even one of the Elohim paid him a visit.

Though the trap with its glyphs and sigils was hidden underneath the carpet, Teodoro still felt an electric prickling along his skin. The protection sigils tattooed centuries before above his heart and solar plexus threaded cool energy throughout his body, insulating him from the spell he’d created and painted on the floor as magical insurance.

Mortals could saunter across without feeling a thing. But if one of the Fallen—or even a Fallen half-breed—should set foot inside the trap, there they would remain, powerless, until Teodoro released them.

The prickling vanished once Teodoro stepped behind his desk and beyond the trap’s reach. As he settled into his chair, the leather squeaking comfortably beneath him, he noticed the red message light pulsing on his desk phone.

Someone delivering the news Webster already gave me, no doubt.

After resting his briefcase on the desk’s neat cherrywood surface, Teodoro reached over and nabbed the handset. He punched VOICE MAIL, then LISTEN. A woman’s voice, smooth, confident and melodic, a voice he recognized as belonging to Seraphina Ivey of the Oversight Committee. A voice he knew well.

“Agent Díon, as soon as you receive this message, please meet me in the tenth-level evidence warehouse. We need to discuss tonight’s interrogation agenda.”

Teodoro erased the message. He would join Seraphina in the warehouse as soon as he had taken care of one little thing. He had no intention of wasting an opportunity like the one the SB had given him when they’d intercepted Heather Wallace.

Flipping his briefcase open, he pulled an audio jammer and the cell phone he used for his clandestine conversations with Caterina—which comprised nearly all of them—from its interior.

He deftly set up the jammer/iPod look-alike and switched it on. It burbled and chirped, effectively desensitizing all audio recording equipment—including any routine SB office bugs.

Grabbing up the cell phone, he thumbed a brief text to Caterina: Where are you?

Less than a minute later, a quiet beep announced her reply: Germantown, TN. On assignment. Finished. What do you need?

Have urgent task. Regards D. Call me.

The message had no sooner been sent than Teodoro’s cell was ringing. “I’m listening,” Caterina said when he answered. Her faint Italian accent was flat, all business.

“Bueno. I need you to keep listening.”

Teodoro filled Caterina in, but with selective bits of information, changing Heather’s kidnapping by her father to a meeting with FBI handlers instead.

“Our people grabbed her when she was on her way back to Baptiste’s club. If she’s brought into HQ, she’ll spill everything to avoid interrogation and then they’ll learn who and what Baptiste is—what they’ve really got on their hands. A Maker. Programmed to obey. To use however they choose.”

“Not if I can help it. I’ll intercept them and make sure she never says a word. Give me their route and time table.”