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He wouldn’t allow it.
He’d waited too long, fought for too long. And he wouldn’t be cheated of it now that the end was so near.
His sanity depended on keeping the vow he had made to himself so long ago.
He knew the general area where they were, and he’d given this woman the location. She would get there before he did, but, he would be close, and he would be watching. And once she found the prey, he would be there to steal it from her. If he remembered Judd, and he did, then he knew that the girls would be very well hidden. Very well protected.
Perhaps even sharing his bed.
He had to force back a roar of rage as he focused on the woman once again. Focused on what he knew rather than what he suspected.
He knew once Commander Justice arrived, Justice would be distracted by the past that would haunt him there in the form of the family his birth mother had been taken from.
The same family that had aided Judd and Fawn after Gideon had disappeared into the darkness on the night of their escape.
Terran Martinez had arrived, just as Judd had said he would. An arrangement Scott Connelly appeared to have been a part of. Because Fawn was his daughter.
His teeth clenched as a growl escaped before he could bite it back. He wouldn’t accept that. He couldn’t accept it.
He frowned and glared through the scope as the woman arched her brow imperiously.
Oh yes, she knew he was there. Watching. Waiting. She wasn’t daring him to pull the trigger, she was daring him to take what they were both after.
“Good night.” Did she speak the words or simply allow her lips to form the shape of them?
Regardless, she rose from the chair and strode to the curtains, which she pulled closed with a jerk, shutting out his view of her and leaving nothing to chance. She tucked the bottom edges of the curtains into the window frame, ensured there were no cracks an assassin could use to target her, then turned off the lights to the room.
Gideon sighed at the loss. There were times in the past three days as he followed her, that he hadn’t felt so alon
e in this quest. He had felt that someone, who might even understand his desperation, was there with him. Her battle to save her niece was a noble one. And one he understood. Unfortunately, it was also one she could possibly lose.
She was unique, even to him, and learning more about her would be imperative before he struck to take the prize she would find for him. He didn’t kill innocents.
Even the medical assistants in the Brandenmore labs had been spared. He hadn’t held them responsible for the horrors suffered there. They had fought on many occasions to ease the agony or delay the tests, to allow him a chance to recover before they were repeated.
Several had conspired to aid his escape more than once, only to fail. One had died in the attempt. Another had died when they were caught attempting to ease Judd’s pain. It was their lives or the orders they were given. Gideon never held it against them when they reluctantly followed those orders.
Diane Broen, like those assistants, was innocent of the crimes he found punishable. There was no cruelty in her. Unlike many, though, there was a fierce, burning need to survive and to protect those she loved. Though there were very few she loved. Her sister, her niece. Of the four men she fought with, he saw loyalty from her; he didn’t see love.
With the Swede, though, he saw friendship, respect. Yet, he knew she would die to protect any of them. They were her responsibility, and therefore, under her protection.
Sighing briefly, he lowered the weapon and waited, carefully gauging the darkness and the shadows before moving. There had been other eyes watching her until he’d put a stop to it. The Coyote Breeds employed by the research scientists still attempting to carry on the Brandenmore legacy had tracked her as far as Tennessee before he’d had enough and cut their throats.
They had sent a two-man team to follow her. Their orders were, when and if she found the Bengal who had escaped nearly twelve years before or the two girls, they were to take them before the Bureau of Breed Affairs could move in to protect them.
Gideon had taken care of them instead. This woman he would allow to live, but those Coyotes had deserved only death.
He would allow no other adversary to track or to attempt to harm his prey or the warrior woman tracking them. That was his prerogative alone.
His teeth bared at the thought of it.
The memory of copper-rich blood flowing over his hands sharpened his senses and had a growl threatening to rumble in his throat.
Not yet, he told himself as he broke the weapon down to its individual parts and stored it in the case next to him. Then he donned the hat he had worn earlier. A beaten, stained cowboy hat that shadowed the mark on his face and went with the scuffed-up boots he’d stolen along with it. The scent on the clothing would keep any Breeds from accidentally figuring out that the individual they might pass had no scent of his own.
It was becoming a hassle, that lack of scent. It was an immediate alarm to any Breed who detected it. It required Gideon steal used, worn clothing rather than the nice, new clothing he would have preferred.
His prey would pay for that as well, he promised himself as he picked up the case and began moving quickly to the path that led down from the rise across from the hotel and back to the parking lot.
