Flameout (27 page)

“Different projects but with the same end goal—to find a means of either stopping the spread of the virus or producing a vaccination against it.”

I picked up another stack and quickly scanned them. Unlike the notes Jackson had, these didn't appear to be research notes, but rather a presentation of some sort. Which wasn't surprising if Rosen Industries followed the same basic procedures as the mob I'd worked
for. Departmental heads had been expected to provide regular reports to both the board and to investors on the state of various projects. Baltimore's work on the virus wasn't included in those more general reports, but he'd certainly had to present his findings regularly to Lady Harriet—the harridan who owned and ran the Chase Medical Research Institute—and the most senior members of the board. Most of
these
notes contained fairly typical waffle that gave as little as possible away on whatever projects they were talking about, and it made me wonder why on earth Rosen had kept them. Then I discovered a possible reason—in among the waffle, there was some major statements. One in particular jumped out at me:
This mutation is probably the one that allows humans to become vampires. If this
is
the case, then it might one day be possible to either reverse the process or at least develop a vaccine.

I blinked and for several seconds couldn't think of anything more than
holy
fuck
.

Wilson had not only isolated the vampire gene, but had believed it might be possible to cure vampirism!

T
hat
sort of information would be worth billions to anyone who controlled it. No wonder the sindicati and Rinaldo were after these damn notes. With that sort of information in their hands, they could rule the world.

Or destroy it.

“We really should burn these.” Sparks danced across my fingertips. I kept them away from the paper, even though it was tempting to do otherwise.

“You found something?”

I pointed rather than answering.

He scanned the paragraph then said, “Fuck, that's
got
to be the pot at the end of the research rainbow.”

“Or the spark that changes the world as we know it.” I raised my gaze to his. “We can't let the vampires
or
Luke get hold of these.”

“Luke has Wilson and Baltimore. He doesn't really
need
them.”

“And yet he sent Rosen here to retrieve them.”

“Presuming Rosen
is
one of Luke's hive members, and I'm still not convinced he is.” He held up a hand, halting my protest before I could make it. “If Luke
did
send him here, then it's probably because, without the notes, they'll have to start all over again. Especially if
De Luca wasn't lying when he claimed to control all the virus research the sindicati and Luke had stolen up to that point.”

“And I for one believe he wasn't.” I waved the papers. “This stuff is dangerous.”

“Undoubtedly, but you can't destroy them. If Wilson
did
succeed in isolating a gene mutation that accounts for the dead rising, then that gene might also be the key for a cure of the virus.”

A fact I was aware of. But I also knew that until Luke was stopped, we didn't dare hand over these papers to PIT or any other government body. Because once it became common knowledge we'd found them, everyone would be after them.

“Then we stop it from becoming common knowledge.”

“And how do you propose to do that? Rinaldo mentioned he was having Denny's place watched, remember, and I wouldn't put it past both factions of the sindicati to be doing the same. We can't walk out of here with a suitcase full of notes and not expect them to come after us. And my purse isn't big enough to hold the damn things.”

“They don't know Denny told us about the notes.”

“No, but the vamps who were here undoubtedly do—”

“How?” Jackson cut in. “Denny didn't mention their location out loud.”

“No, but they could have been following the whole conversation via his thoughts. Besides, how long will it take for anyone to visit him in the hospital and rifle through his mind?”

“True.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, the sound like sandpaper. “What about cataloguing all the notes on our phones, then picking a select—and very harmless—cross section to take with us?”

“Luke—or whoever actually controls Rosen—will know the notes aren't complete.”

“
Maybe.
But to anyone else, it'll appear we've found part of what they're looking for.”

“What if it's Rinaldo who controls him? He has this place under watch, so
not
mentioning the notes will only jeopardize Shona and the guard.”

Jackson waved a hand. “What else can we do? As you said, we dare not risk anyone getting their hands on the full set.”

He was right, and we both knew it. I guess we just had to hope that my belief that it was Luke who controlled Rosen was also right.

Of course, that still left us with the problem of Parella, who was undoubtedly also watching this place.

“We might as well call Rinaldo from the office,” I said. “It's the only contact number he has for us, and I'd prefer to keep it that way.”

Of course, he could always confront us in person, but I doubted he'd risk that again given he was now aware of our connection to PIT.

Jackson nodded. “Let's each photograph half the notes—that way if one of our phones is taken, no one will have the full set.”

It took over an hour to photograph them all, and my phone's low battery warning light was blinking rapidly by the end of it.

“Right, you take these.” I picked up the selection of reports and notes I'd placed to one side of the others. “I'll cinder the rest and flush them down the sink.”

I grabbed an armful and headed for the kitchen. It only took a brief burst of fire to reduce them to ash. I turned on the tap then spun to get the rest of them. In a very short amount of time, they were on their way to Werribee with the rest of Melbourne's crap. The only difference was, this particular crap had the potential to alter many lives—for good
or
for evil.

Jackson handed me the suitcase then led the way down the stairs and back to the car. Once again there was no one to be sighted in the park, and yet that feeling of being watched came back with renewed force. I glanced upward. There was some sort of hawk or falcon circling high above. Neither was a particularly rare find in Melbourne—especially peregrine falcons, some of which can be found nesting in high-rise buildings in the city center these days—but the timing of
this
sighting had suspicions rising. Especially given that our location kept getting blown.

“And if it
is
a shifter up there rather than a regular bird,” Jackson said, “there's nothing much we can do about it. Not unless you want to start taking the train.”

“
That's
hardly practical.” I threw the case into the backseat then climbed into the front. “And it's not as if a hawk can't follow a train.”

“So we quit worrying and get on with business.”

Which was easy for him to say—he wasn't the one getting hit by an endless stream of dire and, at least for the moment, incomplete warnings about what was coming at us. “We can't go back to our
accommodation when that hawk is up there. I'm not risking Rory's life. I can't afford to.”

He snorted. “I think you'll find he has
no
intention of stepping back on this one. Not anymore.”

“I'm well aware of that,” I snapped, then took a deep, calming breath. It wasn't fair to take my anxiety out on him. “But day-to-day stuff is vastly different from him being involved in a major confrontation with Luke.”

And
that
was coming.

That and death.

I feared it. Feared it with every inch of my soul, because there was no guarantee that the person to die would be Luke.

I glanced at the side window and blinked back tears. Rory and I had often died before our time, but it never got any easier. Being reborn after such an event hurt like a bitch, but so too did having the other half of your soul being torn away.

But what if it wasn't Rory? What if it was Sam, or even Jackson? I might not have known him long, but he'd so very quickly become a part of my life, and I hated the thought of losing him.

“You won't,” he said softly. “I'm not destined to die any time soon.”

“You can't guarantee that.” No one could. Not even someone like me, who was often visited by visions of death, and could alter the path of those involved if I so chose.

“Except that I
can
. An old witch once told me I'd be gifted with three children and live long enough to annoy the hell out of them.”

I raised my eyebrows and met his gaze. “Is that why you weren't worried about jumping in front of a damn train and scaring the life out of me?”

“Precisely. It wasn't my time.”

“But how can you be sure? No witch has a one hundred percent success rate, and she—”

“
He
, not she,” he cut in, “and in this particular case, the witch is an air fae.”

Air fae were ethereal beings who could hear the whispers of what might be in the winds that roamed the world—hence the reason they were more often than not called wind fae.

“Even
he
cannot guarantee what might be, as every action and decision we make alters the path of our destiny.”

“Perhaps, but he has read the fortunes of many a fae over the centuries and, as I said, has never been wrong.”

Surprise rippled through me. “So fae make a habit of having their futures read? Why?”

“Because it's always handy to know what to expect from one's life.”

“But half the fun of living is the journey of discovery we take from the cradle to the grave. I'd imagine actually
knowing
would take much of the joy from life.”

Although it had to be said, Jackson certainly wasn't showing any signs of
not
enjoying life.

“Exactly! It makes your experiences all that much richer, because there
is
no need to fear.”

“What about death? Do you also know how or when that will happen?”

He shook his head. “Some do. My father does, for instance, but I asked not to be informed.” He shrugged. “Maybe I'll change my mind once I have three children and I find myself hurtling toward old age, but for the moment, I'm simply enjoying life.”

He sure was. “What about the virus, then?”

He frowned. “What about it?”

“What if I'm wrong and you
are
infected?”

“I guess that's something not even an old witch could foresee. If I
am
infected . . .” He hesitated. “I just have to hope that fate is not that cruel.”

Fate could be something of a bitch at the best of times. Hell, just look at the life she'd handed us phoenixes as a brilliant example of
that
.

I guessed
I
had to hope Jackson wasn't that fae's first mistake.

It didn't take us all that long to get back to our office. Jackson repeated the process of opening the door and checking the security cams, and I headed over to the phone. The flashing indicator told me there were no new messages, so I dumped the suitcase and the extra copy of the satchel notes that we'd done onto the desk and picked up the phone. I called Rinaldo first, informing him what had happened at Denny's and that we were leaving the suitcase and the satchel notes in our office. And, in what might yet be a fatal mistake, also informed him that—given the sindicati were also tailing us—I was telling them the exact same thing. Whoever got here first could have the damn things.

“And you accuse
me
of taking unnecessary risks,” Jackson murmured. “You might just have pissed him off enough to come after us.”

“We held up our part of the deal by telling him about the notes. Besides, I'd rather he come after us than Shona and the guard.”

I dialed Parella next, and a few seconds later, he answered. “Emberly,” he said. “I didn't believe we'd be hearing from you so soon.”

“Well, you did warn us to keep you updated or you'd unleash the might of the sindicati, so what did you expect?”

“I somehow doubt you are at
all
afraid of such a threat.” His voice was dry. “And I very much suspect this call is related to events at Denny Rosen's.”

“Indeed. We found some paperwork—”

“A suitcase full of it, in fact.”

“Describing it as ‘full' would be something of a misnomer. However, there's a problem—”

“If the notes have been cindered, all deals are off the table. Whether you fear us or not, we
will
come after you.”

“Oh, we didn't cinder them, as tempting as it might have been. We did, however, have to inform Rinaldo of their presence.”

He was silent for a moment, and a note of admiration touched his voice. “
That
was a very good move.”

“Killing two birds with one stone usually is.”

“Indeed. Where are said notes being left?”

“In our office. I told him whoever gets here first, gets them.”

“And
that
might just be temptation enough to draw the bastard out of hiding.”

“Not if he sends lackeys in.”

“He has so far shown a remarkable lack of
willingness to let others do his dirty work. I doubt that will change any time soon.”

I hoped like hell he was right. “We've also informed the werewolves of the possibility of his arrival.”

We hadn't, but it wouldn't take long to correct that.

“The werewolves are welcome to him if they get there first.”

But they wouldn't, if his tone was anything to go by.

“Good. Chat to you later.”

“Indeed.”

I hung up and glanced at Jackson. “We'd better move. I don't want to be here when any of them arrive.”

“Best ring Baker first. We can't afford to get him offside right now.”

That we couldn't. I quickly dialed his number and gave him a brief rundown of events. He hung up with the promise to be here promptly.

“And with that,” I said as I replaced the receiver, “all elements are in play. Anything on the security cams?”

He shook his head. “I've set them to stream a copy of all future recordings to the cloud. That way, if Rinaldo or one of the others decides to destroy or erase them, we've still got a copy.”

“Not that having a copy is going to do us much good. We're already well aware who all the players are in this particular drama.”

“Caution never hurts. Besides, I want to watch the unfolding drama if the sindicati and Rinaldo happen to arrive at the same time.”

“Our office might not survive said drama.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, but before I could follow Jackson
to the door, the phone rang. I picked it up instinctively. “Hellfire Investigations. Emberly Pearson—”

“Emberly?”

The voice was sharp, cold, and feminine. It took me a moment to recognize it—not surprising given I'd only talked to her once. It was the chief inspector—Sam's boss.

My stomach suddenly twisted. “What's happened?”