Page 87 of Butterfly Assassin
“Come on. Let’s head back to SCTF headquarters.” Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he added, “There’s no point hanging around here.” A check of his watch told him they had two hours before the sunset. That meant an hour before Alpha Wallace’s time frame began, and knowing their luck, Smith would be one of those who changed lightning quick.
The SCTF offices were unusually busy when they arrived, but Frank still wasn’t back.
Arlington met them as they neared Michael’s desk.
“Have we got any leads?” Michael asked him. “Anything?” He gestured to the clock. “We’re running out of time.”
“I’m aware,” Arlington replied. “And no. We’ve searched all of his businesses and properties. The fucker’s vanished.”
“What about his bodyguards,” Miller suggested. “Has anyone checked out their homes, yet?”
Nodding, Arlington said, “Stewart and Bridgford are chasing their addresses now.”
“Blake’s the one he trusts the most, according to what Aaron’s seen at the fights,” Michael said, confused by Arlington’s raised eyebrows until he realised he’d called Aaron by his first name. Deciding that any attempt at an explanation would only dig a bigger hole, he ignored it. “I’d suggest we start there.”
“Agreed.” Arlington eyed him suspiciously but didn’t comment. “You and Miller take Blake’s house. Take Stewart and Bridgford with you for backup.”
“Yes, sir.”
They didn’t have long to wait. Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way to Blake’s.
* * * * *
“Bollocks!” Michael holstered his Glock and looked at Miller. “What are we missing?”
Blake’s house was as empty as White’s. But there was no sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. If Blake was with White, then it was something they’d planned ahead of time, not a spur-of-the-moment thing.
Stewart and Bridgford joined them in the living room. “We found this stuck to the fridge.” He held up a photo of a small cottage surrounded by trees. The edges were a little worn. “It says Abingdon on the back.” He flipped the picture and showed it to them.
“Jesus Christ, that’s about two hours from here.”
“You think they could’ve gone there?” Miller took the photo and studied it. “It looks isolated enough. They’d have privacy.”
“That’s a long drive with a captive shifter,” Stewart remarked. “Maybe Smith was bitten here and they killed Wilson before setting off?”
“Maybe.” Michael glanced at the photo. The more he looked at it, the more it felt right. “The only thing we know for sure at the minute is they’re not here. Let’s head back. I’ll call Arlington on the way and see what they can tell us about this place.”
By the time they got back, they had an address. Turned out Blake’s grandmother had owned the lodge and left it to him when she died six months ago.
“Do we think they could be there?” Stewart asked, studying the photograph. “It’s a long way to go if we’re wrong.”
Frank walked over, a piece of paper in hand. “I just spoke to one of the bar staff at Smith’s club. After we left, she said she remembered Smith talking to Blake and West about some new weekend cottage he’d just bought in Abingdon. She said he thanked Blake for taking him there in the first place. Then laughed about how his mother always called him a worthless piece of shit, and this was somewhere she’d always wanted to live, so he bought it as afuck you.”
“What’s his mother’s name? Is she still alive?”
Frank sighed. “She is, but she’s in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s. I phoned the home, the nurses say she won’t be of much help.”
“Shit.” The timer went off on Michael’s phone—the one he’d set when they’d started looking for White. Eight o’clock. “According to Alpha Wallace’s estimations, we just ran out of time.”
Muttered cursing filled the room.
Arlington came out of his office, hands on hips. “Where are we?”
Michael immediately told him about Blake’s cottage, followed by Frank repeating what he’d found out about White.
“I’m just waiting to hear back from the estate agents in the area, see if I can pin down an address,” Frank added.
“At this point, we have to assume White’s going through the change and that there’s a strong possibility he’ll already be a shifter when we get there. With any luck, he’ll be one of those who it doesn’t work for, but be prepared for the worst scenario.” Turning to Michael he said, “Call Thomas and tell him we need backup. I’m not sending you to a house where two hostile shifters could be waiting for you.”
