go deep.”
Damn. That’s right. He couldn’t charcoal the guy. Santiago needed him alive to figure out what he knew about the operation that could’ve killed one of his men.
“Didn’t your mama ever teach you to tell the truth?” He shoved the DB face-first against the wall again, spread-eagling his legs using the oh-so-gentle toe of his boot. With a hand on his back, he searched him for weapons.
Kip piped up. “Shouldn’t you—”
Santiago shot him a cold look that said “Shut your piehole.”
Sure, regulation stipulated he put on a pair of latex gloves to protect him from the effects of any silver he may find, but his way was faster.
That was the problem with having a new guy shadow him. They knew all the rules and were puppydog-eager to demonstrate their knowledge. Like they were being tested. Which, of course, they were, but fieldwork was more flexible than that. You did things by instinct, by what felt right. Not by some rulebook you memorized in a classroom setting for a test you were about to take on a computer. Santiago had never let himself get caught up in bullshit created by the so-called experts, and his wariness had served him well over the years. Street smarts won out over book smarts when lives were at stake.
Kip mumbled something under his breath that Santiago didn’t quite catch and didn’t care to either.
He started to turn his attention back to the DB, when the guy jolted sideways away from the wall and made a move for the weapon at his feet. Before he could pick it up, Santiago stomped on his fingers and kicked the knife away. It spun against the cement floor, hitting the wall with a metallic ting that echoed down the corridor. The guy howled, tried to pull free, but trapped beneath Santiago’s foot, he wasn’t getting anywhere. His efforts got noticeably weaker as he squirmed on the pavement.
“See the metal strip on the toe of my boot there?” Santiago twisted it as if he was grinding out a cigarette butt. The man groaned. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes.”
“It’s on the heel, too. But it’s not steel. It’s silver.”
“What…what do you want from me?”
“The boots get ‘em every time,” Santiago said over his shoulder to Kip. With hands on his hips, he turned his attention back to the DB loser. “So you lost the attitude, have you? Ready to talk now?”
“Yes,” the guy groaned. “Just get off my hand.”
Santiago pretended not to hear and kept his foot firmly planted. “Tell me how you knew we would be at the landing.”
“I told you, I don’t know. We were just there.” His gaze darted furtively to the left a few times as he bit the inside of his cheek.
You didn’t need to be a shrink to figure out that this guy knew something and was trying to cover it up. “Well, you’d better pray you remember something. Next time, I’m not going to be as forgiving as I am right now.” He quickly cuffed the asshole with silver-lined cuffs, hauled him to his feet and shoved him at Kip. “Take him to one of the holding cells.” Maybe after a little persuasion, the guy’s memory would improve.
“Me? You want me to take him?”
A flash of anger heated Santiago’s veins. “Are you questioning me, boy?”
A muscle in Kip’s jaw ticked and his nostrils flared slightly. For a split second, he thought the kid was going to argue with him. Tell him it wasn’t his job. That it was for the capture team to bring in a prisoner, not a Guardian. Jesus Christ. Did youngsters these days have no respect for their elders? Not that Santiago was all that old, but he might have to show the kid a thing or two about respect.
An old friend’s words rang in his head. Respect is earned, Santiago, not demanded.
Ha. You respected what you feared.
Then, just like that, Kip’s brain started functioning again. He turned away and grabbed the DB’s arm. “No, sir.”
Smart kid. Santiago wasn’t known to react kindly to those who didn’t do exactly what he ordered. He expected people to do what he told them to do without asking any questions. And to do it with a damn smile on their faces. He didn’t lead by committee or a show of hands. In these parts, his orders were as good as the laws written in the old edicts. You did what you were told or you were out. It didn’t get any simpler than that.
As Kip led the loser away, Santiago stooped to pick up the DB’s weapon, careful not to touch the business end. He was about to tuck it into his weapons belt then check his phone to see who’d been trying to get ahold of him, when something about the blade drew his attention. From the uneven marks, it appeared to be hand-forged, not machine made, and the hilt was obviously carved by a talented artisan.
How strange. DBs were not known for their high-quality weaponry, but this thing was gorgeous. A piece of friggin’ art. He turned it over in his hands. When the overhead light caught on the metal, it flashed in his eyes like a powerful mirror, making his pupils contract.
Holy shit. He blinked a few times, wondering if it was just his imagination, but he angled the blade just so, the light flashed and his pupils tightened again.
Just as a real pearl could be distinguished from the fakes by the gritty feel of it against your teeth, only a few blades were so finely made that they’d cause an ocular reaction like this. Misery was one of them.
This was a Guardian’s weapon—Santiago was sure of it.
CHAPTER TWO
SANTIAGO WAS SURPRISED. And that didn’t happen often.
After listening to the voice mail Roxanne had left on his cell, he assumed he’d arrive on the scene to find chaos and a boatload of collateral damage: Darkbloods, screaming humans who’d need their memories wiped, maybe a few dead bodies. Instead, things looked relatively calm. Just two vehicles pulled off to the side of the road and Roxanne near the edge of the forest, standing over a pile of what probably used to be a Darkblood. From the looks of it, Misery wouldn’t be needed.
Although he’d heard of Roxanne Reynolds—Lily couldn’t say enough complimentary things about her—he’d never actually met her in person. What he did know, though, was that she was into some weird spiritual crap—meditation, mind-over-matter kind of shit. Sure, the touchy-feely stuff was popular with her students. Lily, for instance, gushed about her at every opportunity, but as far as he was concerned, anyone who practiced nonsense like that had to have a screw loose somewhere.
He exited his vintage Corvette and jogged toward the red Search and Rescue truck. Oddly enough, two men were slumped over, sleeping in the front, while their dog barked its head off in the back. How could they not wake up with that racket? His acute hearing picked up the regular sound of their heartbeats, so he didn’t bother to open the door. It was obvious they were both healthy and alive.
“It’s okay, boy,” Santiago said to the German shepherd as he passed the vehicle.
Before he got to Roxanne, the Capture Team’s panel van pulled up alongside him and a tinted window slid down.
“Where do you want us?” one of the capture team agents asked.
“I’ve got things handled here.” He motioned for them to continue. “But I want temporary roadblocks set up ahead and behind us. If anyone asks, say there’s been a rock slide.” This remote part of the highway wasn’t well traveled at night, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Yes, sir.” The vehicle drove away and the sound of its engine was soon swallowed by the night.
He quickly assessed the scene as he crossed the road, his boots crunching loudly on the pavement. Crickets chirped in the nearby bushes, apparently undisturbed by what had just happened. He didn’t detect any live Darkblood scent, just the scent of the sweetblood