“That’d be nice, but isn’t it too cold to be outside?” She remembered just how chilly it was when she found Mason. Would her warm-weather body be able to withstand the frigid elements well enough to go running? She certainly didn’t have the right workout clothes. Hell, when she got to her room after yesterday’s adventure, she’d never been more thankful in her entire life to see an electric blanket on her bed. “I’m kind of a wimp when it comes to cold weather.”
“It’s actually been mild for this time of the year,” Brenna said, her hand on the door, “but I forgot you’re from Florida. Do you swim? We’ve got a great pool.”
The two women made plans to meet later so that Roxy could get a tour of the region’s pool and gym facility located on the far end of the complex.
Besides, she had a lead—albeit a slim one—about Ian’s death that pointed to the Seattle area, so she wanted to ask the woman a few more questions about Agency operations here. Although she didn’t hold out much hope—all her previous leads had gone nowhere—she couldn’t not investigate.
CHAPTER THREE
SANTIAGO AWOKE EARLY. His sheets were sandpaper against his skin, his pillow a contoured brick under his head.
He threw back the covers, his feet hitting the cold tile floor with a thump, and stumbled to the small refrigerator he kept in his sleeping quarters. He ate a piece of leftover pizza and chugged orange juice directly from the carton.
With the sun still high in the late-September sky and his delivery not coming till later, he couldn’t leave for the Ridge yet, though he was antsy to get up there. Only a handful of his top people knew he had a home located in a remote part of the mountains but even they didn’t know what he did there. Frankly, it was no one’s business but his own.
He hadn’t been expecting to go again so soon, but running into Ms. Reynolds had changed his plans. When she’d pointed out the fact that Darkbloods had located a den so close to region HQ, he didn’t need to see the disdain for his leadership in her expression—he could hear it in her voice. But then, as always, he needed to be realistic. She’d identified his weaknesses and, as much as he hated to admit it, things had to be dealt with.
Although he could’ve used her help in tracking down the den, he’d managed to find it on his own. Given that Darkbloods were notoriously sloppy and the tiny house had been clean, almost barren, it was obvious that the place hadn’t been in operation for long. Even their coffins—which most DBs were sleeping in nowadays as a nod to their violent ancestors—weren’t there yet. He and the capture team had lit the place on fire and watched it burn to the ground.
But her subtle criticism remained, ringing in his ears long after he got back and taunting his nightmares. Sure, she hadn’t come right out and said anything specific, but he could tell she was thinking it. Thing was, she was right. No way should a den have been located that close to region. It reflected badly on him and his leadership ability and could hurt his reputation among his kind. Despite his best efforts, somehow he’d let himself get lackadaisical and careless and that just wasn’t acceptable. Winners didn’t allow their enemies to take advantage of them and make them look like fuckups. Only losers did.
After quickly showering and dressing, he made his way from his chambers to his office before anyone else was up. Normally he liked the quiet, but after last night, he was on edge. His hands and feet began to tingle, but it had nothing to do with the chill. By the time he sat down at his desk and began working, the numbness had snaked its way through his gut, making it hard to concentrate.
His errors could not go unpunished. He would do what he needed to do in order to get rid of this deadlike sensation. These feelings of nothingness threatened to overtake him whenever he made a mistake and caved to weakness.
On virtual autopilot, he worked throughout the late afternoon and into night. He took a few calls, had a few meetings, talked to one of his counterparts down South who was having trouble with a particularly aggressive den of Darkbloods, and reviewed all the sweetblood reports that the field offices had recently turned in. Then he approved a few big-ticket expenditures from both the region’s medical director and from Jackson Foss’s fiancée, Arianna, who was starting a sweetblood refuge home just over the border in Washington State.
Fortunately, the delivery came shortly before dawn, so rather than wasting time until night fell again when he could comfortably get to the Ridge, he’d be able to leave now.
He pulled back the heavy damask drapes in his corner office. The early-morning sky had lightened to an inky purple. Given the cloud cover, the UV light wouldn’t be too strong yet, and although he’d still feel the pull of the energy drain as he headed out, after today he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.
He gathered up a few files from his massive mahogany desk and put them into his briefcase next to the laptop. Although he wasn’t sure why he bothered. He never looked at work when he got to the Ridge. It was more a formality and, he had to admit, for appearance’s sake, as well.
“Jenella, I’m taking the next few days off, so I’ll need you to handle my calls and inquiries.” He stepped out of his office and pulled the door shut behind him.
His assistant tucked a pencil behind her ear as she placed a notebook on the shelf behind her desk and selected another. “Yes, I know, sir.”
She did? How? He hadn’t said anything to her yet.
He must’ve had a confused look on his face because she added, “You had me move tomorrow’s staff meeting to next week, you blocked off the next few days on your calendar and you tidied up your office. That’s what you always do when you leave.”
God, was he that predictable?
But then, not much got past Jenella, which was why he liked her. That, and because she was the only one who would put up with him. She was efficient and knew what needed to happen whether he was there to give her the specifics or not. She didn’t need to be babysat. But there still were a few things she didn’t know about him. No one would. He preferred to keep some details all to himself.
“Very good. If Eddie calls, tell him I haven’t forgotten our plans. I’m still flying out next week to visit.”
He thought about his good friend, who’d been badly injured several years ago while on assignment in Mexico and was left with a horrible disfigurement. A vampire’s natural ability to regenerate damaged tissue and bone only went so far. Although the guy was lucky to be alive, he didn’t always believe he was. Even though he would never admit it, he thrived on Santiago’s pep talks.
“Text me if one of the field offices needs something and I’ll get back to them.”
When he’d appointed the field office team leaders, he’d been careful to select individuals who could make wise decisions independently from him. He let them think he was breathing down their necks, but it was partially the specter of his potential wrath that drove them to make the right decisions in the first place.
The What-Would-Santiago-Do mentality kept the Horseshoe Bay Region and all its field offices running efficiently.
When each individual was strong, the whole team was strong. He didn’t need or want his people checking in with him for every little thing. He wanted the region to run efficiently and the field offices to feel as though they had the authority to make many of their own decisions without needing his input.
Oh, sure, he knew they chuckled behind his back whenever he’d give one of his infamous motivational talks, but it didn’t bother him. They could laugh as much as they wanted, but his methods worked. He was driven, a hard charger who expected a lot from his people, but they respected him for it and got things accomplished. A good leader knew when to press his people and when to back off. Yin and yang, give and take, dickhead and best friend.
“And if Ms. Reynolds