Page 54 of Beloved Sacrifice

After her reaction this morning, he wouldn’t put her back in the little makeshift room under the stairs where she’d been the last few days. The only other place to keep anyone was the cellar. He’d stayed outside the door when he first put them in there, then set up a listening device at the door before heading out to get food. She hadn’t eaten in days, and he’d been anxious to make sure she ate something.

He heard bits of murmured conversation—enough to know Marek wasn’t strangling her. Then he’d reluctantly gone to his computer to do some damage control.

He’d shot out a few queries, trying to get more information about this Lee person.

He hadn’t gotten anything back yet.

He was so close to having what he needed, but the situation was getting more fucked by the moment. First his brother was murdered, then Rose went nuts and started shooting people and blowing stuff up. Now he had this Marek guy to deal with. He had to get to Dorset. He knew the proof he needed was there—he could feel it.

Weston stared at the door to the cellar, frustrated and worried. As far as he was concerned, Marek was the enemy—he’d been sent by the Grand Master, who wanted Rose’s head on a plate. Marek seemed to have no idea what was really going on—that he’d be taking Rose back to face the judge-and-jury-less justice of the Trinity Masters.

In the morning, he and Rose were going to Dorset.

He had no clue what he was going to do with Marek.

Lorelei Madden picked up a cell phone, looked at the display, and then tapped a few keys on her laptop. The call was coming to one of her less-secure phone numbers.

A second later, the system spit out an identification for the caller, who had used a low-level rerouting procedure.

Standard operating practice for members of the Masters’ Admiralty.

“Madden,” she answered.

“Find my grandson.”

She’d known who was calling, but she still winced. “Ms. Dell.”

“It’s Dame Dell, and don’t you forget it,” the older woman snapped.

Lorelei straighten her spine. She would never admit it, but she idolized Jane Dell. She was no-nonsense, shoot first and almost universally feared—just the way Lorelei wanted to be.

“My grandson,” Jane repeated.

“He’s missing?” When it came to members or their relations, something like this had to be treated like a crisis, because it usually was. “Where was he last seen?” Lorelei laid her fingers on the keys, prepared to take notes.

“I know where he is. Go get him.”

As much as she admired Jane Dell, the woman could be a bit, er, ornery. If her grandson hadn’t come ’round for tea, he was hardly “missing.” Lorelei pursed her lips.

“Dame Dell, I cannot send out agents simply because—”

“You can and you will. He called me this morning. He was on a case.”

“In England?” Lorelei asked coldly.

“He was looking for an American girl who’d been kidnapped. He had a description of the kidnapper. My old biddy network got a line on him. In Sussex, of all the godforsaken places.”

“I’m from Sussex.”

“Well, don’t go around blurting that out, girl.”

Lorelei glared at her office wall. “What are you asking for?”

“I gave him that information this morning. I know my grandson. He would have done recon, then collected a team to do an extraction. He would have called that in. The boy’s manners are flawless, despite my best efforts. It’s been nine hours since I gave him that information. Recon does not take nine hours. It can’t, in Sussex.”

She had a point. “I’ll check into it.”

“You’ll do something about it, or I will.”

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