I’d initially thought it had been Rochelle—Sam’s lover, and a PIT operative who, like him, had been infected by the Crimson Death virus. And while Sam had never been under the control of the hive or his brother, Rochelle’s position had been a little more tenuous. She had, in fact, killed herself rather than be forced to turn on both Sam and PIT. And for a dark fae, that was a pretty desperate action.

But Rinaldo had also intimated that he had a line into PIT. Whether that was true, I had no idea, but right now, with Rory so weak, I was taking no chances.

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but I have no choice.”

“It would seem that I don’t, either, short of dragging your ass there personally.” She paused, and a hint of amusement crept into her voice as she added, “And after that rather impressive demonstration in Brooklyn, I suspect that might not be possible. Or even wise.”

Surprise ran through me. I’d been expecting a threat rather than a backing down. “You could be right.”

“Meet me tomorrow evening, then—nine should do. The peak-hour traffic will be gone by then, and the area will be quiet.”

“Fine. But send the fire brigade away. I don’t need any more witnesses than necessary.”

“Nor do we,” she said heavily. “The crew will be at your location in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated. “Have you got Jackson’s blood results back yet?”

“I chased it up with the lab yesterday. I’m assured they’ll have them to me within the next day or so.”

Meaning we’d soon know if the virus had been burned from his system.

“Thanks,” I repeated, and hung up.

I bent down and checked the two vamps Jackson had knocked out for signs of awareness, but both were still unconscious. I tightened their leashes anyway, then headed out the now-broken front door. The night remained quiet, and the moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds. What few stars could be seen were unusually muted. It was almost as if they’d dimmed their brightness in respect for the death in the room behind me.

I couldn’t see Jackson anywhere, and if he was moving about, then he was doing so quietly. You found anything?

Pain slithered through my head even as I asked that question—a sharp warning that using our connection was indeed taking a toll. Nevertheless, it was stronger—more reliable—than it had been a few days ago, and that meant it was still gaining strength. It made me wonder just how far it would go—would we, perhaps, be able to do more than merely mind talk? Would we perhaps be able to sense the other’s presence, no matter where that person was? Rory and I certainly had that capability, though it was one we rarely needed or used.

Jackson didn’t reply, but after a few minutes, he appeared from the house next door. “Sorry for not responding, but all the mental talking is giving me one hell of a headache.”