Or was I making mountains out of molehills again? Rhoan would probably say yes, I was, but I wasn't so sure. The sick sensation that I'd unleashed something two months ago that couldn't be retrieved would not go away.
I shivered, and thrust the thoughts away. Killing for the sake of mercy was completely different to killing because I was ordered to do so.
I had to believe that. I really did.
Blowing out a breath, I stopped, broke down the rifle and shoved the bits in the pack. Throwing it back over my shoulder, I looked around, searching for the nearest phone. I'd left mine in the car, and while it would only take me a few minutes to run back there, I needed to call Jack fast and warn him that the man behind all this was killing -
I stopped abruptly.
He was killing the main limbs of his organization in order to protect himself.
Misha was one of those limbs.
If I didn't get to him before they did, our last chance of discovering the name of the leader was gone. As dead as that woman in the restaurant. As dead as the man who had shot her.
I got my clothes then ran on to the car with every ounce of speed I possessed. Unlocking the door and grabbing the phone seemed to take forever, as did dialing Misha's number and waiting for a response. All I got was a recorded message.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I slammed the door shut, started the car, and threw the gears into drive. After planting my foot on the accelerator and taking off with a squeal of tires that undoubtedly had the nearby cops scrambling to note my plate number, I thumbed Rhoan's number into the phone, and hit the call button. His phone was engaged. I swore softly, and sent him a text message instead. Hopefully, he'd look at it before it was too late. Jack's number got the same response. I sent him a message, telling him what I was doing and why, then threw the phone onto the passenger seat and concentrated on driving.
It took me twenty minutes to get to Lygon Street, and to say I broke the land-speed record would be something of an understatement. I stopped in a loading zone, grabbed the backpack and my phone, then ran toward the Rocker.
The security guard glanced my way as I neared, one bushy brow raised in query. "You seem to be in an awful hurry."
I slid to a halt. "I need to find Misha Rollins. Is he inside, by any chance?"
"I've only just come on shift, so I can't - "
"Thanks," I cut in, then pushed past. The main bar wasn't full, though quite a few people were waiting for drinks. Misha wasn't one of them. Swearing softly, I pressed his number into the phone again as I made my way toward the back stairs.
Misha answered as I reached the top. "Riley," he said, voice filled with cold amusement rather than passion. He wasn't here, then. Or at least, not in the process of mating. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"Where are you?" I stopped on the top of the stairs and scanned the shadow-filled room. There were a good twenty wolves up here, but Misha wasn't amongst them.
"My, you sound awfully anxious - "
"Cut the crap, Misha. Your life is in danger. Where the hell are you?"
"At work." His voice was flat. "Why do you think my life is in danger?"
"What does Nasia Whitby look like?" I countered. "And is she one of the Helkis who can take male and female shape?"
"You have been busy."
I headed back down the stairs. "Just answer the goddamn question."
"She's tall, dark-haired." He paused. "I guess you can say she's very masculine to look at."
"Roman nose? Gold nose ring?"
"Yes. Why?"
Now out on the street, I glanced left and right then ran across the road to my car. "Because Nasia Whitby has just been assassinated in a St. Kilda restaurant."
There was a long silence, then he said, very softly, "Fuck."
"Precisely. I caught the killer - he was a black thing with suckered fingers."