Absolute knowledge gives you absolute power, and I will let no one and nothing stand in my way of these. James Horton

“I have just been unanimously elected head of our Hunters’ organization,” James Horton announced with a bit of swagger. His men congratulated him then Peter asked, “How is this going to affect our mission?” “We are the justice this world so desperately needs. We answer to no one now. It simplifies things immensely when you are the highest authority,” he replied, savoring the feeling.

Highlander Imagine: The Eye of Odin

An RK Books production www.RK-books.com

ISBN: 978-0-9777110-7-2

Copyright © October, 2019 by Wendy Lou Jones

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Jones, Wendy Lou Highlander Imagine: The Eye of Odin by Wendy Lou Jones Fiction: Historical │Western / Historical │ Romance / Action & Adventure Library of Congress Control Number: 2019915098

All rights reserved

Highlander Imagine Series

This work was fully authorized by Davis-Panzer Productions and Studiocanal Films Ltd; however the content is wholly an RK Books original fan creation.

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, in any form, and by any electronic, mechanical or any other means now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopy, and recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of RK Books.

RK Books may be contacted at http://www.RK-Books.com/contact

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’ imagination or are used fictitiously. They have no existence outside of the imagination of the authors and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to persons now living or dead is purely coincidental.

RK Books Rochester, Minnesota U.S.A.

First printing: November 2019

Cover photograph from Dreamstime.com & Davis-Panser Productions Inc.

Contact the Author: www.RK-Books.com

Highlander Imagine: The Eye of Odin

Book IV in the Highlander Imagine Series

A NOVEL BY WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI

Other Highlander Imagine books in the series

Book I Highlander Imagine: For Love’s Sake

Book II Highlander Imagine: Beyond Infinity

Book III Highlander Imagine – Code Name: Immortal

Introduction

For more than a decade, Duncan MacLeod had managed to slip away from the concern and dangers of being an Immortal. For a time, he had been able to enjoy a romantic and carefree respite with the lovely and talented young artist, Tessa Noël. But before he had had a chance to taste more than a brief, sweet moment with her, the reality of his immortal existence came crashing in on their lives. With the arrival of the pre-Immortal Richie Ryan, followed closely by Connor MacLeod, hot on the trail of the immortal Slan Quince—and determined to take his head—the reality of the Game was suddenly within his Seacouver home. Realizing that their gift of carefree tranquility together was at an end, both knew they had to make important decisions about their future together in this time of the Gathering. After barely escaping death by the hands of a mortal assailant in their Seacouver home, Duncan and Tessa decide to begin a new chapter in their lives, as husband and wife, on their floating home in Paris, France. But once again, their house-warming peace was shattered by the Game, this time with Tessa taking an Immortal’s head and unexpectedly being injured by his Quickening. Inspired by her recent experience in ways she never imagined possible, Tessa was determined to move forward in her new life. Soon, her hand was not far from a sword, as Grace Chandel and even Connor assisted in her introductory training—much to Duncan’s displeasure.

Duncan’s fondness for one particular group of South American llama statues unexpectedly placed him in the line of fire of a very old Olmec Immortal, Kawill. He had been searching for the same statues that Duncan made a point of rescuing from his excavators. When his thoughtless brag brought Kawill to him, Duncan had stood firm on his principles. These artifacts belonged to the culture that had produced them. They were a part of their ancient heritage and not for sale. According to Kawill, an ancient text—written by the Immortal Balam, chief priest of the Olmec island nation—showed how these statues could be used to open a mystical portal to the Immortal’s Source. Kawill intended to have these statues at any cost. He believed the ritual would assist him in becoming the final Only One before the Gathering. Refusing to acknowledge what he considered, superstitious mumbo-jumbo, Duncan took the Olmec’s ultimate, bizarre challenge at Teotihuacán, virtually on the steps of Holy Ground. At the beheading of his enemy, Duncan came face to face with the power he had dared to scoff at, nearly resulting in

I everyone’s death. Wounded far worse than even he believed possible to recover from, Duncan learned a bitter lesson which rocked him to the very foundation of his psyche. Richie’s decision to leave Duncan and Tessa, so soon after this event, only reinforced the Immortals’ saying, ‘There comes a time when every Immortal must go their own way until the final Gathering,’ brought one more moment of pain for everyone.

Back at home, a frustrated Duncan was trying unsuccessfully to subdue Kawill’s willful Quickening. His frustration only upset and endangered those he came in contact with. He soon realized he must try another approach. Merlina, their recently adopted collie, appeared to be his best four-footed therapist and ice-breaker when she led him to the new immortal priest who was a temporary replacement for Darius. With Duncan’s personal resolve now strengthened, he is finally ready for some peace and quiet in his married life. But a knock at their door brings Connor’s girlfriend, Annelise, with some very unwelcome and troubling news—Connor is missing and in danger. Wishing that he had never seen her, but fearful that she might be right, Duncan and Tessa patch her broken story together and reach an alarming conclusion— Horton is alive, the Hunters have returned and they are now after Connor. After a harrowing journey on the Orient Express, Duncan discovers the truth behind her words and their adventure. Annelise’s brother is missing under very strange circumstances and she intends to rescue him. After her heroic moment finally arrived, she was herself taken aback by an unexpected turn of events, and a brother who had no need of a rescue. With the unexpected arrival of Connor, who had been trailing them, Duncan and his cousin discover the darkest secrets of this Hunters’ organization. Hoping to eliminate the Hunter threat once and for all, Connor and Duncan are both called to do battle. But when the dust of the Quickening settles, Horton is not amongst the dead. Now the search is on before James Horton and his men can kill again.

II

Prologue

Seven days ago: The sun reappeared once again from behind another cottony cloud that floated lazily across an early June Texas sky. On the earth below, William Shepherd paused and pulled the wide-brim of his worn, gray Stetson hat down over his eyes. So much for my shade, he thought casually as he reached for his hammer once again and resumed pounding a stubborn nail into a fencerow post. With another strand of fence wire secured, Will walked to his waiting horse, Grillo. Patting his side, he lifted another pouch of nails from the saddle- bag then wiped his brow across his blue, work shirt sleeve. Almost all gone, he thought as he looked toward the few head of longhorns grazing on a knoll in his pasture. They’re not wanted anymore, but I’ll keep a few of `em. They carry more than just memories for me, they’re a part of all our history. Patting Grillo’s shoulder, he took a casual sip of water from his canteen before pouring a little into his leather-gloved hand and offering it to his horse. Screwing the cap back on, he looped it over the saddle horn. “Fence isn’t going to finish itself, Grillo,” he said and pulling his hammer from his belt, he began slowly walking back along the fencerow. Grillo ambled slowly after him, pausing to nibble a few blades of grass when Will stopped to work. Almost unnoticeable at first, an unexpected sound began overshadowing the gentle sound of the wind that was blowing relentlessly across the open plains. Finally, Will paused in mid-stroke and looked around. Far off in the distance, he saw two all-terrain vehicles, their riders driving erratically. As they were weaving and circling, a cloud of dry Texas dust went flying each time they zig-zagged. “Damn drunken college boys,” he said as their whooping and hollering became audible. “If they keep coming like this, they’ll be into my fence in no time,” he grumbled. An almost unconscious tickle in the back of his mind caused his brow to crease noticeably. Drunk? It isn’t even noon yet. What gives? A small alarm went off in his head as he realized how close they were now weaving to the fencerow. When they hit my barbwire fence, they’ll— He gave a shrill whistle and waved his hat high in the air.

1 WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI

“Hey! You damn drunken fools—watch where you’re going! Stop!” he shouted. “Hey—stop! You’re on my land! There’s a barbwire fence right in front of you!” A shot rang out, striking the ground only inches from his feet. Will did a double-take—his mind screaming ‘run’ as he turned swiftly on his heels. A second then a third shot—fired in rapid succession—caught him in the upper leg and hip, sending him to the ground before he had taken a step. Another, then another, rang out, striking the ground near his hands as he scrambled on his all-fours back toward his nervous horse. Reaching Grillo’s side, he grabbed his front leg for support, steadied himself and clawed his way up the stirrup to his saddle scabbard. His hand gripped the stock of his Winchester just as the next shot hit Grillo’s shoulder, near Will’s head. Grillo whinnied and reared, throwing him off balance. Hitting the ground on his wounded hip, he quickly rolled away from the horse’s prancing hind legs. Grillo bolted off as the ATVs came barreling in. Arching up, he tried to take aim, but there wasn’t time. Hugging the rifle to his chest, he rolled away as a rear tire ripped over the spot where he had been an instant before. Another bullet grazed his shoulder before he stopped and his ears heard the tires skid. Biting into the dirt, the riders gunned their motors. Will flipped over on his belly, brought the gunsight up to his eye—fired— then flattened, covering his face with his arm. An instant before the first ATV reached him, it swung wildly to the side then rolled. The second rider sideswiped him moments later, rolling him across the earth. With his head spinning, Will pointed the rifle’s barrel in the direction his ears told him to, let his gut-instincts take aim, and fired. Before the report had died, he saw the ATV flip backwards, and skid. The sound of the motor quieted to a dull churning. Several moments passed and nothing near the two ATVs moved. Finally, Will sat up warily. Swiveling, he saw his horse in the distance and gave a sharp whistle. The animal’s unsteady gait told him what had happened. “Come here, Grillo, whoa boy,” he said, calming the wounded horse as he got up—his own leg wounds nearly healed. Carefully, he examined his horse’s shoulder wound before turning his attention to the men who had just tried to kill him. Two bodies lay motionless in the dirt, both trapped under their still running ATV. Walking to the first then the second, he switched off the engines. Laying his rifle across his shoulder, he pondered the two dead men. “What in hell was this all about?”

2 HIGHLANDER IMAGINE: THE EYE OF ODIN

3

Chapter One

The sound of a file cabinet closing told Will where he needed to go. “Jim, have you been able to pull any information off the wire about those two yet?” Officer Jim Mason of the Texas Rangers’ Investigative Team shook his head as he saw Will round one of the large evidence storage cabinets. “Nothing more than I told you yesterday,” he said, tossing a small file folder on his desk. “Forensic went over the two of ‘em in the morgue like vultures— no IDs, no cards of any kind, not even a scrap receipt from a convenience store or anywhere—nothing.” “What about serial numbers from those ATVs? They looked awful new to me, like they’d just been driven off the showroom floor. Hadn’t even run the seam off of the tire tread yet.” “Metallurgy is going over the engine blocks and other parts of their frames.” “Why?” “Because these guys, or someone who hired them, took great pains to obliterate any serial numbers from everything.” “What about their guns?” Jim brought a large plastic evidence bag out of a drawer and handed it to Will. “Both guns and those large butcher knives they were carrying too are clean. No serial numbers on those guns, not even a print on them or the knives— absolutely nothing.” Jim scooped up the folder once again and flipped it open. Will turned the bag over in his hand as his eyebrow came up. “Looks like a high-grade ceramic.” “Yup, one advantage with this material is it’ll go through a metal detector without a peep.” Will passed a thumb over his wide, neatly trimmed dark mustache. “I didn’t find these on them when we were out there. Where were they hiding?” “They both had large, lined compartments in their leather jackets. You wouldn’t have seen or felt them unless you were looking for them. The lab people found them in the morgue. The interior compartment was underneath and a part of a heavily stitched design right above the hem of the jacket in front—about here,” and he motioned. “We don’t know if these guys were on a flight recently—do we?” “We don’t know anything about them, period. We are trying to get some hint as to their origin—if they came from outside of the USA or not by looking at marks or material on their bodies. The only artificial marks we’ve found— 4 HIGHLANDER IMAGINE: THE EYE OF ODIN except for the bullet holes that you put in them—were tattoos on their wrists. The lab sampled the skin where the dye was the strongest. They’re running that to see if it has a special origin—it’s something. Other than DNA, we don’t have much to try and ID them with.” Will laid the evidence bag back on the desk as Jim paused. “I hear Grillo was hit.” Will nodded. “Shoulder—the vet worked on him for about an hour.” “I know how much you love that horse. Is he going to be alright?” Will’s head bobbed once again. “Top of the shoulder is where the bullet hit— he’ll be fine. I’m keeping him in his stall for a couple of days so he doesn’t go rolling in the dirt. I wonder what they were planning to butcher with those knives?” “One of your longhorns or Grillo, if they could have gotten ahold of him. They’re incredibly sharp. Could have easily walked up and taken that horse’s head right off then gutted him out before he fell. They’ll cut you just looking at them.” “Those two didn’t look like they were in the market for horse meat. They acted like they were high on something, Jim,” he finished quietly, staring at the knives. Jim shook his head. “The lab says there was nothing in their systems. These guys weren’t drunk or high on anything, Will.” Pulling out their morgue photos, he studied them for a moment before handing them over. “Have you ever seen these men before? Ever noticed any tracks or evidence that someone has been by your herd?” “Nope. Except for you and the crime lab people out there the day before. This past spring, a couple of the office folks and I went horseback riding out that way. Otherwise, no one has ever been out next to my pasture land.” “You’re sure?” “I would know if there was.” “Something else that’s got me puzzled. With all the shell casings our people picked up out there, the only thing they hit was Grillo. Now everything I’ve seen come across my desk so far suggests this was planned down to the last detail. They intended to leave nothing behind that could be traced to anyone if they were caught or killed. It almost looks like they were on a suicide mission. Yet, with all that shooting going on, Grillo was the only thing they hit. Now I find that a bit odd—don’t you?” Will shrugged and motioned with his hands, ‘go figure’. “My golden luck, I guess. Poor Grillo, he wasn’t so lucky, though.” “We ran those tattoos through the computer but they didn’t match any known gang-symbol. They’re on our national alert now. Hopefully, someone in

5 WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI another state will have seen it before and give us a holler. We could sure use a heads-up on our morgue’s mystery guests.” Will handed the photos back. “I don’t think those two are going to be in a hurry to check out of our ‘exclusive hotel’, either. We’ve got time. If someone comes asking after them, let me know, Jim.”

6

Chapter Two

“We’ll be landing at JFK shortly, please return your seat backs and tray tables to their upright and…” James Horton was dozing. At the announcement, he blinked and tuned out the rest of her speech as he rubbed his eyes and glanced out of the window. New York’s airport once again. I can’t wait to get off even if it’s only to change planes. These overseas flights are getting longer and longer for me. Now that Adrian is implementing the last details of our brotherhood network plans, my Hunters can take over some of these flying assignments. I have a headquarters to set up and people to manage stateside now. If it weren’t for those Ukrainian screw-ups Adrian insisted that I put on my USA team, ‘because they never missed’ he had promised, I wouldn’t have to run damage control now that they’re dead. Fortunately, I don’t plan to be in Texas any longer than it takes to kill six or seven Immortals and that shouldn’t take long, not with my men—which reminds me, they knew when my plane was coming in. I expect they will be trying to reach me by now. Walking back into the departure lounge of the airport, James turned his cell phone on and dropped his jacket into a seat. He was about to phone Adrian to check if there were any last-minute instructions regarding his new office when a call came in. The message was brief—one of his people would meet him in the business lounge with a report that needed a decision. Inwardly, James growled and glanced at his watch. He had places he wanted to go in this terminal before he finally got off in Austin, Texas. Acknowledging the message, he grabbed his jacket and carry-on before heading off. A man in a crisply pressed business suit met James near the entrance. Though they were the only two people in the room, he was clearly nervous. “You said it was urgent?” James pressed quietly as the other man opened his briefcase, removed a manila folder and handed it to him without comment. “We lost Mark yesterday—Jacob is in the hospital. I doubt if he’ll be working for us any longer.” “What happened to Mark?” “He was eaten.” “By an Immortal?” James’s bug-eyed expression more than made up for his hoarse whisper. The other man motioned. “It’s in the report.” James quickly slid the binder out and dove into it.

7 WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI

‘Terminal report for Immortal, ‘Jack’ Mo - Louisiana, bayou’. James’s finger passed quickly down the intel for this, now deceased, Immortal until he came to the report of the kill.

Louisiana, Bayou – Gulf coastal region: Jack threw his well-baited hook and bobber back into the slow-moving eddy. At the sound of the splash, half a dozen pairs of eyes, which had been above the water just moments ago, quickly disappeared. Wedging his pole into the fork of a willow, he pushed his haversack into a comfortable position and settled back against a tree just as another pair of eyes, this time much larger, surfaced right off of the shoreline. Silently, they watched him stretch. “Don’t you mess with my bait none—‘ye hear me now?” he said in a stern tone. Mo didn’t expect a response, but that didn’t stop him from giving voice to his thoughts. For the past 150 years, ever since the day this immortal African slave had been made a free man, he had disappeared into the overgrowth of Louisiana’s bayous. Rarely seen working around populated areas, Mo had vowed to stay as far away from towns as he could, living off of what nature provided. Needing very little money, he only rarely sought work for a season before he was gone again. Pointing a finger at the eyes which stared silently back, he said in a gruff voice, “Yes, I’m talking to you, croc. You pull on that line just once and you’ll be in my pan for supper.” As if in response, the eyes blinked then submerged. Good, about time you listened to me, he mused to himself, as the mid-day sun climbed to its zenith above the cypress trees. Placing his hand on the butt of his rod, Mo dozed off. Presently, an unexpected splashing sound caused him to open an eye. Oh, damn—a swamp boat. Someone’s found my favorite fishing hole. People keep moving in—raising levee after levee, pushing the water back. Soon, they’ll probably be building houses down here too. Well, you know the world has been changing, even if you don’t. Pretty soon, it’ll be time to pack up and move again, he thought with a heavy sigh. “How’s the fishing in these parts?” the energetic voice called. Mo scooted himself up and raised his hat above his eyes. “You catch some now and again—depends upon the day,” he shouted back. “Anything today?” the man said as the boat maneuvered slowly up to a tangle of Cyprus knees. “A few—small ones,” Mo replied, motioning to where he had his fish tied off, deliberately not advertising the large mud-cat he actually had on his fish- stringer.

8 HIGHLANDER IMAGINE: THE EYE OF ODIN

Would you just go away? he thought. I don’t need any more fishing competition in here. Much to his displeasure, Mo watched the large man hand his fishing pole to the smaller one then throw a rope around a tree, securing the boat. A moment later, he stepped out and across the tangle of cypress knees, wending his way carefully to the sandbar where he was sitting. I suppose I can neighbor with him for just a bit, thought Mo as he straightened up. Don’t get to talk to many folks otherwise. “Not been biting,” the man said, leaping from the last knee to the sandbar. He slapped the grit off his hands as he approached. “Been on the river long?” Mo asked, making small talk. “No—the two of us just set out this morning from a landing a couple of miles back.” The man stopped and glanced all about the area. “You are really alone back in here, aren’t you? We’re planning to travel on yet today. What’s over that way—there, beyond the bend?” and he pointed in earnest off in the distance. Distracted, Mo started to rise as the man, unnoticed, slipped his pistol from the holster inside his jacket then quickly fired a shot through the side of Mo’s head, dropping him in an instant. The sound of gunfire spooked dozens of birds from their branches, filling the air with momentary cries of alarm. “And that’s how easily it’s done, Jacob,” he said, a thin smile on his lips. “You can do the next one—you need the practice.” Nervously, Jacob half stood and looked around. “Why didn’t you use a silencer, Mark? That sounded like a cannon going off. Aren’t you afraid someone is going to hear that shot and come looking to see what happened?” “Way out here? We’re halfway to nowhere, Jacob,” he replied. Unexpectedly, Jacob felt the boat rock slightly as the water swirled momentarily near where he was sitting. Half turning toward his companion, he squatted and looked all around the murky water by the edge. Re-holstering his pistol, Mark slipped his Natchez Bowie knife out from its concealed scabbard under his arm, then slit and gashed his way through Mo’s neck until his head was off. “And that’s one less Immortal this world has to worry about.” He threw the head into the water and shoved his body over to the edge. Slowly, Mo’s blood drained into the bayou. Eyes began to resurface as small eddies formed and disappeared in the otherwise still backwaters. Mark turned Mo’s haversack inside out and rummaged through the contents. A moment later, he flung the empty sack into the water too. “He doesn’t have any money,” Mark grumbled. “What is this?” Jacob said nervously. “What is what?” Mark replied as he was rummaging through Mo’s pockets. “Nothing,” he grumbled as he stood up.

9 WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI

“The boat is moving—bumping up against these stumps—it’s weird,” Jacob said as he felt something bump the boat once again. “Let’s get out of here, Mark.” “Stop spooking yourself. We’re on a river—what do you expect?” Mark looked in the direction he recalled Mo was pointing. “Let’s see what he caught. I don’t feel like putting in to shore tonight empty-handed. Where did he say that string of fish he’d caught was?” “Fish? What are you talking about?” “You heard me—now where did he say he tied ‘em up?” “Over in that nest of branches—somewhere. Hey!” Jacob grabbed the side of the boat as his feet felt another thump. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The place is creeping me out. This isn’t water, something is bumping this boat.” Mark grabbed a low limb and stepped up on a knee then slid around to the other side of the tree. “Would you just shut up and quit whining. There are no such things as ghosts.” Seeing the fish-stringer, he reached and untied it. “It’s probably some fish or a small gator swimming by.” He whistled. “Would you look at what he caught—now that is a beauty,” Mark said, holding up the large fish. “Alligators?” Jacob gasped, shrinking from the boat’s side. “I don’t see any. I don’t care where those Immortals are, Mark, I’m not setting one foot outside of this boat.” “Aw, for crying out loud—that shot scared `em all off.” Trying to maneuver the large fish and himself back to the sandbar, Mark slid off of a Cyprus knee, landing in murky water over his own knees. “Oh, hell—now I’ll spend the rest of the day with wet shoes and—” A large alligator lunged at his thigh, his jagged teeth clamping ferociously onto his leg. Mark had less than an instant to holler as the strong reptile twisted, throwing him down. “Help! Shoot him! Shoot him!” Mark yelled and clawed at the last Cyprus knees, trying to keep his head above water as the big alligator pulled and thrashed, dragging him off the tangle and fully under the water for a death-roll. Jacob jumped to his feet causing the boat to rock violently. “Mark! Mark!” he shouted as he half scrambled, half slid off of the knee-bridge on his way to the sandbar. Quickly, and with a very shaky hand, he grabbed his pistol out of its holster and fired several shots at the churning water in front of him. “Mark! Where are you? I got him—Mark?” A hand waved above the surface one long step off of the shoreline and Jacob chanced it. Stepping quickly into the water, he sank unexpectedly up to his knees in muck before he reached and firmly grasped Mark’s hand—pulling out the bloody stump of a mangled, severed arm. Jacob gasped at the sight—a moment later, a pair of large jaws

10 HIGHLANDER IMAGINE: THE EYE OF ODIN lunged, nearly straight upward, taking the arm out of his hands. Jacob hollered and flailed his way back and out of the muck, clawing the sand for traction. Before he had fully cleared the water, a smaller alligator latched on to one of his feet. Half on shore, half off, he tried unsuccessfully to spin the much larger man. The pain was a mind-numbing shock—Jacob frantically pointed his pistol in the direction of the alligator’s head and fired, hitting his own foot as many times as the gator’s head. Dead, his jaws remained clamped on Jacob’s mangled foot as he kicked the dead animal repeatedly trying to dislodge him. Another larger reptile obliged him, tearing the animal off—along with his foot.

Present: James closed his eyes and shuttered momentarily before he read the last few lines of the report, which amounted to the hospital notes. There is no way anyone is going to get me to go into those backwoods and lizard-filled swamps. I need better help. He stared back. “How many Immortals did they confirm for that area?” “Where Mo was—almost a dozen in the backwater areas. It isn’t just there— that one spot I mean. Louisiana, Alabama, and Mississippi have a significant number of Immortals compared to some other states.” “Why? Do these freaks suddenly like alligator-infested swamps?” James retorted. I really hope you have deep pockets, Adrian, because I am going to have to overhaul a portion of my staff if we want to root out the Immortals who are entrenched in those wet hell-holes. “I suspect it is partly because of the Civil War. Wars tend to bring out the Immortals from the fighting population.” “Like zombies,” James snapped between his teeth. “Well, then we need more zombie hunters. How many of our Hunter brothers and sisters do we have in those states?” “Not many and we have a couple of misguided Watchers that are bound to be trouble if they get wind of something odd happening in their territory.” “Why? Immortals are nothing more than savage animals. They deserve to die—they’ll kill us all if we don’t kill them first.” The man nodded in agreement then added, “The problem is many of those Immortals’ files aren’t red-flagged. They aren’t known for violence against mortals. That is going to be a problem.” “Well, we’re just going to have to convince our unbelieving brothers to see the light of our truth, as it were—or kill them too.” James watched the other man closely as he wet his lips. This time he didn’t reply for several long moments. “Jacob said he wants to quit,” the man finally added, cautiously.

11 WENDY LOU JONES & LILIANA BORDONI

He closed the binder and stared back. “Hunting brothers don’t ‘quit’ in this organization—he knows that.” “He said he’s finished with our business, he wants to take early retirement.” James dumped the packet roughly back into his companion’s briefcase. “Oh, really? How serious is he about that early retirement?” James asked, his dark- eyes ablaze. “Very,” the man replied, already suspecting the response. “Well then, let’s oblige him. Make sure he joins his last retired partner, won’t you?” He gave a short nod and left. James closed his briefcase then dialed Adrian’s number, hoping to connect with him back at their secret Hunters’ headquarters in the former Nazi cave, in Germany. The only thing James heard was an uninterrupted ring-tone. Fuming, he looked at his watch. I suppose he has to sleep sometime—too bad it’s on my time. Where are you when I need you, Adrian? Closing his cell phone, he pocketed it, straightened his clothing, grabbed his jacket and carry-on then headed for the nearest men’s store.

12