A Hunter Born (Hired Hunters Series Book 1) Read online

  The man nodded somberly and pulled a business card from his pocket. “Officer St. John, ma’am. You call me if you hear or see anything suspicious. Okay?”

  Taking the card from him carefully so that their fingers didn’t accidentally brush, Morgan looked over the information. Travis St. John. Tucking it away in the back pocket of her jeans, she gave the man a brisk nod and forced herself to turn around and put one foot in front of the other until that odd jangling of her nerves finally ceased. Today, she’d meet with Jourdain as planned but tonight, she was going to have Jamie work her magic to look into Travis St. John so that Morgan could figure out exactly what she was dealing with.

  ∞∞∞

  God, she was beautiful. Travis couldn’t keep from watching her as she walked away. Dark hair braided tight down the back of her head, the tail tucked underneath leaving him curious as to the length. Did it end at her shoulders? Or would it form a curtain all the way down her back to skim that delicious, jean-clad, heart-shaped ass?

  Her skin had been pale, flawless cream, her lips a dusty rose unenhanced by any lipstick or gloss. Around average height, for a woman he’d guess, built lean and athletic. As soon as he’d seen her, his fingers had itched to remove those sunglasses that had hidden her eyes but he was willing to bet they were light-colored, blue or perhaps green. Too bad she was a vampire.

  “Hey, Saint?”

  He'd sensed her last night on Bourbon Street as well, but had kept his eyes averted when she'd approached to find the source to what had no doubt set her own instincts on full alert. She probably didn’t know it, most likely never having encountered someone like him, but they were mortal enemies. His kind having been created to destroy her’s, but despite what the prickle on the back of his neck might be telling him, he'd long ago learned to reserve judgment. Just as not every human deserved to be protected, not every vampire deserved to be killed.

  “Saint?”

  “Hm?” The fact that she was out during the day was intriguing. Only the Born could tolerate sunlight, so either something had happened to Olivier Rodolfo and Louisiana was now under new management, or the more likely yet disturbing realization, since it was practically unheard of for women in vampire society to hold a territory, was that such a beautiful creature might actually be marrying that sadistic prick, Rodolfo. He was almost tempted to chase her down and find out so that he might warn her away from what would surely be the biggest mistake of her life.

  Olivier Rodolfo was the reason he’d come to Louisiana and joined the force here in New Orleans. He’d done so for his sister, but the rumors and whispers that surrounded this particular Born had been reaching Travis’s ears long before Sophia went missing. Black market dealings, weapons, drugs, trafficking in both human and shifter children – the guy was a piece of work and one vampire he’d be happy to watch burn – if he could just get close enough.

  Unfortunately, Rodolfo also had a seemingly never-ending supply of flunkies and sycophants willing to take the fall for him whenever they had enough evidence to build a case against the Frenchman, coming forward with full confessions that completely absolved Rodolfo of any wrongdoing. Someday…

  “Hello! Earth to St. John.”

  Blinking away the slight haze that had settled over his eyes from staring overly long at the spot where the vampire had disappeared, Travis shook his head and turned to face Miller. He must have been preoccupied for quite a bit longer than he’d realized as the scene was now cordoned off with tape and the numbered evidence markers had been set up for the photographer.

  He couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder before he got back to business but he also fully intended to seek out that vampire and find out what she was doing in New Orleans the first chance he got. If it turned out she was to marry Rodolfo, perhaps being forced by her family – not a stretch of the imagination when it came to how the Born worked – he might just have to kill the psychotic bastard to free her from her obligation. Call it his good deed for the week.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting the headquarters for the Order of Witches to look like, a mansion similar to Rodolfo’s perhaps? But the address to which the GPS on her phone had led her was not it. The small, unassuming yellow house looked similar to every other abode in the vicinity, but there was no mistaking that the large man standing in the doorway to greet her was none other than Destin Jourdain. Power practically rolled off the male in waves. So much so that Morgan felt like she needed to catch her breath as she accepted the hand of friendship he’d extended before he ushered her inside.

  “I expected you to be taller,” he said with a booming laugh that was so loud Morgan thought for sure it would shake the foundation.

  She looked up at the man that had to be six and a half feet, if not slightly taller, and grinned. “Not all of us can be giants, but I have yet to fail to get the job done.”

  “I’ve heard that about you, Miss Rhys. It’s one of the reasons I contacted you.”

  Of Haitian descent, his mahogany skin was smooth and flawless despite his having to be at least middle-aged to have risen to his current level of power within the Order. His oiled bald head shone under the overhead lights of the entryway his presence seemed to dwarf. He had to be smoldering hot in the pale gray three-piece designer suit he’d donned for this meeting, especially as there didn’t seem to be any air conditioning in the house. And while it may be late fall, the temperatures outside were still pretty warm, at least in Morgan’s opinion, but if the heat affected him at all, he didn’t show it. His features were shrewd, hawk-like, and if he hadn’t been smiling widely, showing off gleaming white teeth, Morgan would have found Destin Jourdain quite intimidating.

  “I believe you said it was my integrity, but I have to say, that that particular trait is shared by all of the Hunters, so there has to be something more to it.”

  Another booming chuckle. “Clever.” Raising his hand, he motioned for her to follow. “Come.”

  The room he led her into may have once been the living room but was currently devoid of furniture. Instead, the expanse of the bare plank floor held a large circle painted in white with symbols around the interior in red. Fat, white pillar candles crusted in dried wax sat just outside the circle while a massive metal bowl flanked by human skulls in the center of the circle was filled with a red liquid that might have been mistaken for blood had her acute sense of smell not told her it was nothing more than dyed corn syrup.

  Seeing her interest, Jourdain stopped to inform her, “For the tourists,” before he once again motioned for her to follow.

  Where the living room had been sparse and rather macabre in its décor, the office to which Jourdain showed her was the opposite. Shelves stuffed to overflowing with books lined every wall with even more books stacked on the floor as well as on every table and on the corner of Jourdain’s mammoth desk. Lit tiffany lamps threw an assortment of rainbow-colored shapes on their surroundings, lending an almost whimsical feel to a room rich with the scent of old paper and leather.

  Motioning for her to have a seat in the rather comfy looking brown leather club chair, Jourdain rounded his desk and settled himself behind it with a sigh and then shook his head. “You’re right of course about your fellow Hunters. Plenty of good, honorable, vampires to choose from. Lots of men with integrity.”

  The last had her raising an eyebrow. “You wanted a woman.”

  A barely perceptible nod before Jourdain picked up a pen from his desk and began twirling it through his fingers. “I’ve made it my business to know Rodolfo – his habits, his predilections – even if he does choose to rarely emerge from behind the walls of his little kingdom.”

  The statement came as little surprise. Any leader worth his or her salt would make knowing the other power players in the area their highest priority and Jourdain didn’t strike her as a fool.

  “For someone like you, he’d welcome with open arms, eager to show off and ready to impress.”

 
; Morgan couldn’t dispute the logic, nor could she fault Jourdain for his tactics, even if it was mildly insulting that her gender had played a major role in why the leader of the Order had chosen her. Her impression of Rodolfo, above and beyond the man’s arrogance, had been that he considered himself quite the lady’s man, and thus, would be more likely to open up to a woman rather than a man. Still, she felt it necessary to point out, “I’m not the only female Hunter. Far from it.”

  Jourdain lifted a brow. “Now,” he said, tossing the pen back on the desk. “There are other female Hunters now and only thanks to you.”

  Shaking his head with a smile of admiration, the man let out a little hum of approval and sat back deeper in his chair. “Morgan Rhys. Not afraid to thumb your nose at your own kind's expectations, kicking down doors, and staring them right in the eye as you told them where to stick their traditions. You were a trailblazer for your women. Now, perhaps you'll take the lead once again by aligning with the witches in spite of your kind's derision toward us and help us find a killer.”

  “About that,” Morgan began with a grimace, hating having to be the one to tell him, but having little choice. “I cut through Lafayette cemetery on my way here. There was a body. A woman.”

  Jourdain’s expression went absolutely thunderous, the air around him practically crackling with energy, and Morgan had to steel herself to remain seated when every instinct in her body erupted with the urge to find cover before the man blew apart in his rage.

  One large fist slammed the surface of the desk, making the thing jump under the blow despite its obviously heavy weight. “Tell me,” he snarled. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “A police officer was already on scene when I came upon her so I didn’t have much opportunity to examine the scene. She was a white woman, dark hair, probably in her late twenties. If I had to guess, she’d been killed sometime late last night. By the way she was dressed, I have to assume she worked as maybe a fortune teller or perhaps in one of the occult shops.”

  Jourdain nodded grimly and running a hand over his face, he blew out a long breath. “Any number of my people work in the tourism industry and may have been dressed as you described.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she murmured, the words feeling trite and wholly inadequate. “But I think you should know that I did smell traces of vampire blood on the scene and I have every intention of digging into Rodolfo and his people to find out who did this. As you had already informed me, this wasn’t a feeding gone bad. Whoever did this, killed her for sport.”

  Another nod from Jourdain, this one distracted as he murmured, “Your assistance is most welcome, Hunter.”

  “Police involvement makes things a bit tricky, but I met one of the officers and have his card. I can meet with him, see if I can pry any more details they’ve discovered from him,” Morgan said, feeling slightly guilty for the anticipatory leap in her veins at the thought of seeing Travis St. John again. Clearing her throat, she leashed the sensation and got back on track. “How many cases are they working on now? On the phone, you told me a string of murders, you weren’t specific.”

  Jourdain grimaced and shook his head. “Two bodies were retrieved by law enforcement before we could get to them. Three others were discovered by members of the Order and given proper ceremony as was their due.”

  Morgan nodded, not surprised that the Order of Witches hadn’t wanted to involve the police if they could help it. The supernatural world, be they vampire, witch, or shifter, preferred to handle things themselves and keep humans as far out of the loop as possible. “Can I ask how you knew a vampire was involved? Did someone see one of the murders?”

  “A woman named Simone was one of the first bodies found. She fought her attacker, had his blood under her nails. We attempted a locator spell with the intention of delivering justice. DNA is typically absolute, but not when it comes to vampires.”

  Raising a brow in surprise at this news, Morgan thought about it for a moment before she blurted, “The blood exchange.”

  Jourdain eyed her shrewdly for a moment before he nodded. “Every vampire made by the Born that created him or her will show up as well as anyone they’ve recently fed from.”

  “A needle in a haystack.”

  “Thus, why we called you Miss Rhys. We need someone on the inside. Someone to watch and listen, dig into things without raising suspicion.”

  Recalling the body left in the weeds like so much discarded trash and her sense that whoever had killed the woman had toyed with her first, tormented her, probably even treated the woman’s death as a game with no regard for life or those people that would be left behind to mourn the loss, Morgan felt a fire of rage and disdain building in her belly. She hated people like that. Her father had been one, and she’d long ago sworn that while she may never be able to make a difference with him, she’d damn well make a difference elsewhere. Did it really matter whether the job came from her kind or the witches? A rogue vampire needed to be brought down. End of story. Standing, Morgan held out her hand. “I’ll find whoever this rogue is, Mister Jourdain. My team and I will take care of it.”

  Destin Jourdain didn’t immediately take the hand as he stood, imposing at his full, towering height, his voice a low, bass rumble she could feel in her chest. “No, Miss Rhys. You’ll find whoever this rogue is and bring the information to me. The Order will take care of it.”

  Her hesitation was brief. Typically, rogue discipline was handed out by the vampire’s master, but if Rodolfo was condoning, perhaps even encouraging the murder of witches than not only was he no better, but it was doubtful justice would be meted out in any fashion. If Rodolfo was behind this, it would be fitting to leave him to suffer whatever retribution the Order chose to bring down upon the peacock’s head. “Consider it done.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jamie was awake and typing away on her laptop when Morgan entered her room. Kane was there as well, playing some game or another on his cellphone. “Did either of you get any sleep?”

  “Not yet,” was Kane’s mumbled response while Jamie, not bothering to look up from her screen, lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “A couple of hours, I was too excited about cracking this.” The blonde shook her head. “Top tier stuff, let me tell you. No one has this much security unless they’re extremely paranoid or hiding something.”

  Hearing that Rodolfo had impressive firewalls in place wasn’t a surprise, hearing that they were actually stymying Jamie, however, was. “Can you crack it?”

  Another lift of the shoulder, but firm conviction in her voice as she replied, “Eventually. I just hope I don’t go through all this trouble just to find a schedule full of dry-cleaning pickup dates and dentist appointments. Give me something juicy.”

  “How about you, boss? When was the last time you slept?” Kane asked, standing from his chair to stretch, the action finally getting Jamie to lift her eyes from her screen long enough to admire the view as Kane’s navy-blue T-shirt rose just slightly from the top of his jeans to expose an inch of golden, muscular abs. Even Morgan had a hard time averting her eyes and she’d known Kane since he was a boy.

  Kane was one of the unfortunate Born whose perfect looks had been a burden. With his chocolate brown hair just a shade lighter than his eyes, long eyelashes, high cheekbones, and full lips, he’d been downright pretty through his childhood and into his teen years, a fact that had drawn too much unwanted attention from both males and females alike. Morgan had actually come to his rescue one time when she’d discovered him at a mere thirteen years old cornered by a decidedly lecherous elder. The experience was no doubt responsible for the beard Kane insisted on keeping as well as the amount of time he spent in weight rooms bulking up. Kane Fletcher would never be in a position where he was unable to defend himself again. Not if he could help it.

  Shaking off the rather disturbing memory, Morgan shot her teammate a weak smile and answered his question. “Going on almost seventy-two hours now. I’m due.”

  “Well
it won’t be tonight,” Jamie said with a nod of her head toward the back corner where a sparkling blue cocktail dress Morgan had never seen before, now hung. “Rodolfo’s throwing some kind of party. The servant left a dress for you as well in your room.”

  Morgan groaned. She was tired and calculating the hours she’d been awake had only highlighted just how exhausted she was. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to put on a fancy dress, smile and socialize with a bunch of strangers. Especially these strangers. In this pit of vipers, she needed her leather, Kevlar, and a full arsenal of weapons at her disposal.

  Kane grinned at her obvious displeasure and settled back into his seat. “How’d it go with your meeting?” he asked in low tones so as not to be overheard by any prying ears that might be hovering close by.

  Filling them both in on the body she’d stumbled upon as well as her meeting with Jourdain, Morgan handed Travis St. John’s business card over to Jamie. “Take a break on what you’re doing for a minute and run a check on this guy for me, would you?”

  “Do you think he has something to do with the murders?” Jamie asked, frowning at the printed card.

  Not wanting to admit that whoever the male was, he threw her system all out of whack as well as the fact that her interest in him went beyond professional, Morgan offered, “He may be able to give us some more insight into the killings, but I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Jamie gave a sharp nod. “On it, boss.”

  It took less time than Morgan had imagined for Jamie to release a curious “Hm”.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “I’ll need to dig a bit deeper to be sure, it may just be a blip,” was the woman’s distracted response before Jamie tucked her lower lip between her teeth and hunched further over her laptop.

  “What kind of blip?”