Page 65 of Shield of Fire

“We finally caught the man whose been on the top of our most wanted persons list for over a year. It was an operation months in the planning, and it went off without a hitch.”

“Congrats then.”

“Well, it’s certainly a relief to have him off the streets. I received your text, by the way, and have already sent a team out to talk to her. But I take it this isn’t a follow-up call? Or hell, even a personal call?”

There was a hint of censure in his voice, and guilt stirred. “I do make personal calls, you know, but yeah, this isn’t one of them.”

“What’s happened?”

“Too much to go into detail over the phone, but I think I might have another bio-tracker embedded?—”

“How the fuck did that happen?”

“During the fight we had with the men who hit Cynwrig’s apartment.”

“When your shoulder was shredded, you mean? Don’t think I don’t hear about these things.”

“The shoulder is fine?—”

“Yes, but one day it won’t be. One day, you’ll be too far away from any help, and it’ll be all too late.”

The echoes of grief in his voice said he was talking about Mom, even if he didn’t mention her by name.

“I can’t control fate any more than she could,” I said softly, “but I’m doing my best not to head into dangerous situations alone.”

“Good,” he said gruffly. “Now, where are you? I can get someone out to remove it immediately.”

“I’m in Swansea?—”

“What the fuck are you doing there?”

“Combining passions, you might say.”

“With which man?”

I grinned. “Eljin. Cynwrig and Mathi were both caught up in a council meeting, and the latter is out when it comes to passions.”

He grunted. “Well, I’ve a good man down that way who should be able to remove it easily enough. I’ll send you the address after I give him a heads-up.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “I don’t suppose you’ve turned up any information about the elf who hit Cynwrig’s and Kaitlyn’s?”

“No, which suggests either he hasn’t a record or his name is a false one.”

“Have you tried searching birth or passport records? There can’t be too many British-born Myrkálfar elves with red hair around.”

“I’ve placed a request with passport control and Cynwrig has his people going through their records now.”

But would he share the information if he found anything? Part of me suspected not, given the Myrkálfar did have a serious proclivity for revenge.

“Also, what do you know about Loudon Fitzgerald?”

“Nothing more than he’d been your mother’s lover before I came onto the scene, and that she used to call on him for relic information. Why?”

“I suspect he might know more about what Mom was searching for before she died than what he’s saying, and I can’t use my pixie wiles on him.”

“Then I shall issue a warrant immed?—”

“There’s a complication.”

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