To Hunt a Sainte

Despite the glass frame around the closed office door, Hunter needed more than perfect vision to see in the dim light. He took a moment to focus, and the office space brightened. High-quality leather furniture and expensive art decorated Omaney’s space. Photographs of the slick businessman shaking hands with prominent politicians graced the burnt orange walls while a state-of-the-art computer whirred to life on Omaney’s solid-oak desk. Where two masked figures waited.

The arrival of security stopped the intruders’ hasty search. The door burst open, and the largest guard waved a gun at them. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Get away from the damned computer, on your knees.”

The guards surrounded them, obviously expecting the masked figures to stop whatever they hell they had planned and kneel on the floor. Clad in black from head to toe, only one of the prowlers looked big enough to successfully engage his opponents. The other was smaller in comparison, a slim figure huddled behind the bigger male. So it came as a surprise to watch the smaller man attack first, taking down the largest guard with a kick to his gun hand and a punch to his neck. The intruder’s partner moved with an efficient grace. He looked as if he spared little more energy than needed to subdue the guards, working in tandem with his companion.

In minutes, all four of Omaney’s sentries sprawled bruised and unconscious on the floor, their guns in a pile on a nearby chair. The intruders had yet to speak. The larger of the two hurried back to the computer desk and plugged in a thumb drive. He typed at the keyboard, then waited, glancing repeatedly at the clock on the wall. The smaller figure remained still, vigilant while he—or was that she?—watched the doorway.

Hunter had sensed something odd about the smaller male, and now that he concentrated, he could make out a woman’s form under all that black. She had taken on her attackers with ease, dispatching them quickly. Her large partner had been equally skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and Hunter reevaluated his assessment of the pair, wondering exactly why they sought to invade Omaney’s space. These weren’t ordinary burglars.

Nor was Omaney an ordinary businessman. Due to new evidence Hunter’s team had unearthed a mere week ago, he had no doubt Peter Omaney was involved in their current case. But he didn’t know where these prowlers fit into the equation. It had taken his agency time and exhausting effort to get even a whiff of Omaney’s involvement. The philanthropic businessman was squeaky clean. But obviously someone else knew there was more to Omaney than met the eye.

What the hell had they copied? Hunter needed a bead on the computer, but knew he had little time. Though he’d kept out of the way of the security cameras, these two had activated the motion sensors in Omaney’s office. Even now, others rushed to investigate the warehouse’s silent alarm. He needed to get his ass out of here. Yet…how had these two known to come here, to this particular site? Omaney kept this place off the radar.

Unfortunately, nothing about the masked pair seemed familiar. Running out of time. He willed them to reveal some important detail as to their identity before he was forced to flee. Westlake Enterprises couldn’t afford to be linked to this break-in, or they’d blow their case.

As if hearing his plea, the man behind the computer did something fairly strange and decidedly stupid. He removed a black glove and placed his hand directly over the keyboard, lightly stroking the keys with his fingertips.

A chill bristled Hunter’s spine, even as he scented the faint trace of extrasensory miasma—a cloying aroma Hunter associated with anything remotely psychic in nature. Holy shit. Jurek needs to know about this, pronto.

The man placed his hand back in the glove, pulled out and pocketed the memory stick, and turned off the computer. His accomplice tossed him a spray bottle and rag and waited while he wiped the keyboard clean of prints.

Saying nothing, they moved together out the office door. Hunter remained still, watching with great curiosity as they backtracked their way to the exit. They paused while the large man listened at the top of the stairs. He nodded and exited, swallowed by the darkness.

Who the hell were they? More importantly, who were they working for? Hunter needed to get J.D.’s ass out here right away to look at that computer.

He waited for the woman to follow her partner and took a second shock to his system. She turned and looked right at him. Even in the dim light, Hunter could see her gray-green irises. With grudging respect, he studied those eyes that slowly examined his form hidden in the shadows.

When he remained unmoving, the woman disappeared into the darkness. He allowed her a small lead before he followed, his curiosity growing in leaps and bounds while he burned to know the woman’s identity. But, when he reached the ground level, he found the exit door stuck in place. Swearing under his breath, he wrestled with it until the frame cracked and the door swung open.

He pushed through and swept the perimeter. To his immense frustration, they had vanished.