"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

From there, heтАЩd driven them himselfтАФbecause you didnтАЩt trust assets like that to anybody elseтАФto the Brownswick School for Girls. The defunct prep school was in the suburbs on thirty-five acres of ignored, overgrown, dilapidated grounds, rumors of its being haunted keeping the normal folks out.

For now, the Lessening Society were squatters, but the For Sale sign on the corner near the road meant he could fix that. As soon as he pulled some cash together.

With his boys finishing up their recovery back at the school, and the current slayers downtown trolling for the Brotherhood, he was out on his own, cataloging the few assets left in the SocietyтАФincluding this stretch of mostly empty forest north of the city.

Although he was beginning to believe he was wasting his time.

Stepping up on the cabinтАЩs shallow porch, he shone a flashlight in through the nearest window. Potbellied stove. Rough wood table with two chairs. Three bunks that had no mattresses or sheets on them. Galley kitchen.

Heading around back, he found an electric generator that was out of gas, and a rusted-out oil tank, which suggested the place had had some kind of heating in it at some point.

Returning to the front, he toggled the door latch and found it locked.

Whatever. Not much in there.

Taking the map out of the inside of his bomber jacket, he unfolded the thing and located where he was. Checking off the little square, he got out his compass, adjusted his heading, and started walking in a northwesterly direction.

According to this mapтАФwhich heтАЩd found at the former Fore-lesserтАЩs crack house, this tract of property totaled some five hundred acres and had these cabins sprinkled around at random intervals. He gathered that the place had once been a camping area owned by multiple people, a kind of modern-day hunting preserve that had been lost to the New York State tax burden, and purchased by the Society back in the eighties.

At least, that was what the handwritten notations in the corner said, although God only knew if the Society was still the owner of record. Considering the financial state of the organization, the good olтАЩ NYS might well have a gorilla-size tax lien on the acreage now, or have reseized the shit.

He paused and checked the compass again. Man, being a city boy, he hated rooting around out in the woods at night, clomping through the snow, checking shit off like some kind of forest ranger. But he had to see with his own eyes what he had to work with, and that was happening only one way.

At least he had a revenue stream lined up.

In another twenty-four hours, when those boys of his were finally on their feet again, he was going to start refilling the coffers. That was the first step to reclamation.

Step two?

World domination.





FIFTEEN


She was bleeding.

As Layla looked down at the toilet paper in her hand, the red stain on all that white was the visual equivalent of a scream.

Reaching behind herself, she flushed, and had to use the wall to steady her balance as she got to her feet. With one hand on her lower belly and the other thrown out at the sink counter and then the doorjamb, she stumbled into the bedroom and went right for the phone.

Her first instinct was to call Doc Jane, but she decided against that. Assuming she was in the process of miscarrying, there was a possibility of sparing Qhuinn the wrath of the PrimaleтАФprovided she kept this under wraps. And using the BrotherhoodтАЩs personal physician probably wasnтАЩt the best way to ensure privacy.

After all, there was only one reason a female bledтАФand questions about her needing and how sheтАЩd handled it would inevitably follow.

At the table by the bedside, she opened the drawer and drew out a small black book. Locating the number for the raceтАЩs clinic, she dialed with a shaking hand.