“I can’t,” I wailed.
A few people watched from the sidewalk, but none of them offered to help me. God bless society’s indifference. If I hadn’t been blocking the road, Madigan’s employee would’ve been equally unconcerned, as his thoughts revealed, but I was an obstacle that needed to be removed. With a huff of irritation, he got out of his car and came toward me.
“Give me your hand, I’ll—”
That’s all he said before I hit him with my gaze, noting with relief that his eyes glazed over immediately. I’d been half afraid that Madigan had indoctrinated his employees against mind control by giving them vampire blood.
“Don’t speak. Get in the car, passenger side,” I said in a low, resonant voice as I climbed into the driver’s seat. The blond employee complied, sliding into the seat next to mine without a word.
A few gasps sounded from the people watching this turn of events, but then Ian sidled up to the group.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he said as he collected cell phones from the onlookers, flashing his own mesmerizing gaze to still the instant protests. Now, at least, we wouldn’t have to worry about video of this ending up online.
I sped away without waiting for Ian. He knew where we were going. Then I drove long enough to ditch the car in a dark, deserted area before yanking the blond employee close and vaulting upward into the night.
Too late, I realized my mistake. I’d ordered the man not to speak; I hadn’t ordered him not to be afraid. When we were about a mile up, something warm soaked through my jeans. A glance down confirmed my suspicions.
“Eww, you peed on me?”
Squirty didn’t reply, of course. I shoved him back as far as I could without dropping him, belatedly commanding him not to fear. He stopped hyperventilating, but the stain in front of his pants kept growing. Appears once the faucet was turned on, it would keep running until it was empty. To make matters worse, no matter which way I turned him, a wet spot kept brushing up against me.
Ian would laugh himself silly when he saw this.
I gritted my teeth and focused on where I was going, glad the wind kept the smell from hitting me. Navigating by bird’s-eye view was difficult since street signs were unreadable from this height, but after a couple adjustments, I landed in the grass next to our RV, only tearing up a small clump of earth with the impact.
“You’re getting better, Reaper,” an English voice noted behind me. “Though it took you long enough.”
Damn, Ian was already here. I braced myself as he came out from behind the RV. He sniffed, his nose wrinkling. Then he looked over me and my blond captive, grinning.
“Managed to squeeze in a golden shower along the way? How lecherous. I’m impressed.”
“Save it,” I said crisply, releasing Squirty after commanding him not to run. Since I’d also ordered him to be silent and unafraid, he stood there, his thoughts transmitting only mild curiosity at being trapped in the woods with two glowing-eyed creatures.
I gave him the full weight of my hypnotic stare before I spoke again.
“When I ask you a question, you will answer with nothing but the truth, do you understand?”
A firm nod while the word “Yes” echoed across his mind.
“What’s your name?” was my first question. I couldn’t keep calling him Squirty though my pants were proof of the moniker’s accurateness.
“James Franco.”
“Like the actor?” I couldn’t help but ask.
His expression eased into a smile. “Yes, but poorer and uglier.”
I didn’t want to find James funny. With his job, this likely wouldn’t end well.
“Don’t speak beyond answering my questions,” I said in a stiff voice. “Do you know what we are?”
“Yes.”
A wooden reply this time. I gave a brisk nod. “Good, that saves time explaining. Now, do you know who we are?”
“No.”
Guess I hadn’t needed to conceal my face earlier. “Ever heard the name Cat Crawfield?”
“No.”
Ian and I exchanged a surprised glance. James’s thoughts were cottony beneath the mind control I’d whammied him with, but they agreed with his answer, not that I thought he was faking being mesmerized.
“What do you do at your job?” Just our luck to have captured a clueless pencil pusher . . .
James began to detail a complicated description of DNA analysis, gene splicing, and cross-species genetics. I didn’t understand half of what he said, but the gist was clear: He was right in the thick of Madigan’s experimentations.
“Does your facility have people like me trapped in it?” I asked, baring my fangs for emphasis.
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?” I snapped in frustration. If Tate and Juan weren’t there, then Dave and Cooper weren’t, either. Dammit, this had been our best lead!
“Test subjects are housed elsewhere,” James replied to my rhetorical question.
“Where?” Ian asked before I could.