“At the office, like I said I would be.” His frown increased. “Are you okay? I mean, you look a little pale —”
That’s because death is reaching her sharp little claws toward one of my friends. I swallowed back bile and said, “Look, I’m fine, but I want you to go home right now. And don’t open the door to anyone but me.”
“Why, if I didn’t know better,” he said, amused, “I’d say you were worried about my safety.”
“I am, asshole. I mean, if anyone is going to kill you, I want it to be me. Now, cut the crap and just get moving.”
He chuckled, and airily waved a hand – a movement I only half saw on the small screen. “No one can get into the office, Ris. Not only is there security downstairs, but the entry into this area is thumb-coded. I’m actually safer here than at home.”
“Security doesn’t worry vampires,” I told him. “All they have to do is take over the mind of the guard and they’re in.”
Or, in the case of thumb-print security, cut off said thumb.
His grin faded. “And that’s what you think is after me? A vampire? Why?”
I took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “I’m not sure you’re the actual target,” I said, honestly enough. “But a vampire has threatened to kill someone I know, and I’m just warning everyone.”
“Warning heeded.” His voice was somber. “And I’ll be careful, I promise. Now, do you want to hear what I found?”
I did, but I wanted him safe, too, and I couldn’t escape the notion that he wasn’t, no matter what he thought. Hunter hadn’t made that threat idly. But maybe part of the torture was the waiting, the ever-tightening fist of fear, and the knowledge that sooner or later, one of my friends would be dead. The bitch would no doubt enjoy toying with me like that.
“I’ll listen, as long as you promise me you’ll go home, lock the door, and stay there until further notice.”
“Sounds a bit extreme,” he said, with a frown.
“Trust me, the bitch who made the threat is extreme.”
He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “I’ve seen too much lately to ignore such a warning. The minute I hang up, I’ll leave. That okay?”
“Okay.” I’d rather he hung up and left straightaway, but I was realistic enough to know that was never going to happen when he had news to share. Why he couldn’t leave and talk I had no idea – other than the fact it wasn’t legal to drive while on the phone.
Not that legalities had ever stopped him from doing something before.
“Right then,” he continued. “I went through public records, and discovered the company that owns that particular warehouse is a mob called Pénombre Manufacturing.”
I frowned. The name rang a distant bell – I’d seen or heard that name somewhere before. Where, though? “What do they manufacture?”
“I have no idea, because I can’t uncover much information about them or what they actually do. I suspect they might be a shelf company, except for the fact that they own that warehouse.”
“Can’t shelf companies own assets?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, given they were initially designed for people wanting to start a new company without the hassle of all the paperwork required to create one.”
“When did they buy the warehouse? There has to be some records of that.”
“There is.” He glanced down, and I heard the clicking of a keyboard. Jak was the old-fashioned type – none of these fancy light screens and keyboards for him. Hell, he still jotted down most of his notes in an actual notebook, rather than using his smartphone. “It was purchased twenty-eight years ago.”
I frowned. I’d been born twenty-eight years ago. Which didn’t actually mean anything, beyond the suspicion that it wasn’t actually coincidental. “Who by?”
“A bloke by the name of Michael Greenfield is the registered owner of the company. Problem is, the only Michael Greenfield I can find is in the matches and dispatches database – he apparently died forty-odd years ago.”
I wondered if he was any relation to Adeline Greenfield, the witch who’d taught me to astral travel. “Meaning someone is either using his name, or the Michael Greenfield registered as the owner of that building was born overseas, not here.”
“Yep. I’ve just sent a request to an English mate to search the databases there, but I don’t know anyone in the U.S. or in Europe who could help us.”
“You could always join ancestry.com,” I said, only half joking.
He snorted. “That wouldn’t help us if he’s changed his name.”