“The messenger,” Timur and Gorya said simultaneously. They exchanged a long look.
Apostol Delov was a name taken by men—shifters—trained to track and find whomever Lazar pointed them toward. They found their prey and then called in the killers. They were men well trained in the art of survival. Timur thought of them as very cunning weasels.
Jeremiah rubbed his hands together. “Whatever he is, he’s a scary son of a bitch. I watched him through the window. He stripped off his clothes and began working out. Doing forms made up of karate moves. He was smooth and fast, and he had muscles in places I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have them.”
“What else did you find out?”
“I snooped through his garbage can and his mailbox. No mail other than a bill for his electricity, which I brought back with me.” He tossed it on the table. “That’s where I got his name. I hung around, up on the roof of one of the houses across the street. His home backs up to a large field that runs into a park. It’s just a street over from a little cul-de-sac and—”
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Timur spun around to stand directly in front of Gorya. “Evangeline’s house. That’s on a little cul-de-sac. What’s the address, Jeremiah?” He snapped his fingers. “The address. Have you ever been to Evangeline’s house?”
“Well, yeah, but Evangeline lives here now. Her house is empty,” Jeremiah said.
The door opened, allowing the cold in, and Timur stepped into the stream. He liked the cold. He’d been born and raised in it. Jeremiah was from the humidity of the rain forest. He moved closer to the fire.
Kyanite and Rodion came in. Neither wore a coat, a testament to the fact that they preferred the colder weather as well. “Got your message, boss,” Kyanite said, unnecessarily since they had come in answer to his summons.
“Pull up a map. Jeremiah, give us that address.”
“He’s staying at a house at 1222 West Elm.”
“The house Evangeline owns is 320 Cherry Blossom,” Timur said. “How close are those two streets?”
“Right on top of each other.” Rodion had his phone out and showed the map. “One street over. You want to tell us who we’re going to kill?”
That was always going to be the first solution they thought of. Timur detested that it had been his first thought as well. “We’re not killing anyone yet. A man showed up outside of the bakery. I just didn’t like the look of him and had Jeremiah follow him. He found a bill with a name on it. Apostol Delov.”
The two men exchanged a long look. “The messenger,” Kyanite said. “He’s come.”
“He works for Lazar.” Timur gave Jeremiah an explanation about shifters taking that particular name. “Lazar always liked to send a messenger first, before he showed up. The fact that a messenger turned up when we have a new employee at the bakery, and that employee lives in Evangeline’s old home, cannot possibly be a coincidence.”
He hated that even more than the fact that he thought killing was a solution. He didn’t want Ashe to be involved in any way. “Did she have any kind of accent that you heard, Gorya?”
Gorya shook his head. “Southern maybe. I didn’t hear Russian, but then we all learned not to speak with accents.”
“We can get it out of her if she’s here because of Lazar,” Rodion stated.
Timur’s leopard went insane. He felt the itch running over his skin. His muscles contorted. The need to kill was strong, the leopard pushing for supremacy, the need to shed blood. Timur fought him back, just as determined to stop him. These men are with us. Our friends. Our allies. He tried to calm the raging beast.
The leopard’s mind was frenzied chaos, so much so that Timur couldn’t break through to soothe him. He had to settle for pure brute strength and discipline to keep the leopard from forcing him to shift. Taking several deep breaths to help him fight off the cat, he faced the others. All of them had contended with a fighting leopard at one time or another, so they waited patiently, depending on him to keep the animal under control.
Part of the ability to control a furious, bad-tempered cat thirsting for blood was knowing one’s companions in jeopardy believed you could. Timur settled the leopard with harsh skill and then looked straight at Rodion, letting him see that the fierce anger was all from the cat.
“I’ll handle the woman. No one else will be going anywhere near her.” Even as he stated it, he knew he meant it. He also knew it was a very bad idea for him to get personal about Ashe Bronte. He was going to blow it if he wasn’t careful. One never got involved with or allowed feelings for a potential hit.