“Where is Isabella McGuire?” he asked quietly. He didn’t have to look up to know his men had taken a nervous step back.

He looked up and met the stares of the three men standing in front of him. “Do not make me ask again,”

he said softly. He never yelled at his men. He never had to. They either did what he told them to do or he killed them.

It was a very simple concept.

One he strictly abided by.

Thomas shifted nervously. “Adam tried to change her,”

the man blurted out.

Logan leaned back in his chair. “I see,” he murmured as his eyes once again shot to the large pile of expensive equipment covering his desk. “He did this knowing I wanted to change the woman myself?”

“Yes, Master,” John replied anxiously, probably hoping he’d shift all his anger towards the man he already planned on killing for failing to get the woman.

“And where is Adam?” he asked, drumming his fingers along the edge of his mahogany desk.

“Dead,” Brad, a vampire he’d mistakenly turned a few weeks ago announced. As a human he’d been a damn good cop, as a vampire….well, Logan was already planning on rectifying his mistake.

“How?”

The men shared nervous glances. “You know how I feel about being made to wait,” he reminded them.

“The woman,” John finally answered.

His fingers stilled. Isabella McGuire killed one of his strongest vampires? Based on the pictures he’d seen of her and information a few of his minions were able to get on her, he knew there was no way in hell she could have taken on Adam.

“She’s a Sentinel,” Brad blurted out.

Everything stilled in him with that one word.

Sentinel.

“We don’t think she knows what she is,” John added.

“She didn’t fight back when they grabbed her and she looked genuinely surprised by the whole thing.”

“Adam burst into flames a minute or so after he bit her,” Brad said in a rush.

“Didn’t you realize something was off about her scent?”

he asked through clenched teeth. Of all his men, Adam should have known when he was dealing with a Sentinel. Sentinel blood was sweet and too damn inviting. It was a natural trap that most vampires younger than four centuries fell for and it was a scent he damn well made sure all of his men were trained to detect.

“We didn’t get close enough to scent it on her,” John mumbled.

“Why not?” he demanded, trying to think of a way to rectify this situation. His men had f**ked up and now Isabella McGuire was fair game for the other Masters.

He’d be damned if they got their hands on her before he did. Now that his men had screwed up they probably sent her running out of his territory.

They had to get her and soon before she found out what she was and most importantly, before her mate found her. She might not be trained, but that didn’t mean her mate wouldn’t be. All he needed now was some f**king Sentinel screwing up his plans.

“Where is she?” he bit out, not bothering to send his fangs back when they shot out.

“They have her,” Brad mumbled pathetically.

“Who?” he snapped.

“A group of Sentinels on patrol found them. They killed the men with Adam and took her,” John explained quickly.

“I see,” Logan sighed as he got up and slowly walked around his desk. “The Sentinels have my property,” he said in deceptively calm voice. His men noticeably relaxed. It was insulting really.

“Yes, Master. There was nothing we could do,” Brad said, fidgeting as Logan came to a stop in front of him.

“Nothing?” he asked, looking into the weaker man’s eyes.

“No, Master,” Brad answered with a shake of his head.

Logan continued to watch the man as he addressed the rest of them. “Is this true? There was nothing you could do?”

“Yes, Master,” they murmured their agreement.

“Of course. I understand. A group of Sentinels came and there was nothing you could do to get my property,”

he said in sympathetic tone.

“I’m sorry, Ma-” Brad began to say before a surprised gasp left his mouth. He stared in horror at Logan before he slowly looked down to find a large gaping hole in his chest.

Logan tossed the blood soaked heart in his hand, ignoring the man as he fell to the ground. “Tell me again why the three of you ran from Sentinels and allowed them to take my prize?” he asked, still tossing the heart in the air and catching it.

“We’re sorry, Master,” John said, trying not to look at the now smoldering body.

He caught the heart and gestured with it towards the large pile of computer equipment. “And all this?”

Thomas licked his lips nervously. “We went to her apartment and grabbed all her computer equipment and discs before the Sentinels could get them.”

That actually pleased him so he decided to let them live. For now. “Take all of this,” he said, gesturing with the heart again, “to be looked at. I want to know the very second you find the Tattletale program.”

He tossed the heart onto the smoldering body. “But just in case, find Isabella McGuire.”

“And if she’s found her mate?” Thomas asked as he tried not to glance at the now smoking body.

Logan thought it over for a minute. Killing her mate would be the smart thing to do, but he couldn’t ignore all the possibilities that went along with having his prize’s mate.

“Grab him,” he decided, only to frown when he looked over at the two men who had already failed him. He had too much riding on this to take any more chances.

There was only one way he could guarantee that he was the one to find her, unfortunately it was also the one thing he promised himself he would never do, but it didn’t look like he had much of a choice at the moment.

“Get me Kale Quinn.”

**************

“Do you want some ice?” Chris asked, trying his best not to smile and failing miserably judging by the glare she was sending his way.

“No,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her right hand and narrowing her eyes accusingly on his jaw. No doubt she blamed his jaw for hurting her hand. It wasn’t as though he knew she was going to deck him as soon as he set her down in the living room. Granted, he should have, but he’d been rather distracted. He certainly hadn’t known his little mate didn’t know how to throw a proper punch.

They’d have to work on that.

He leaned forward from his perched position on the overstuffed chair and reached out to take her hand in his. She immediately jerked back, cradling the hand against her chest.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, reaching out again only to have her plaster herself against the back of the couch and as far away from him as she could get.

With a resigned sigh he sat back in his chair. “Next time don’t tuck your thumb in your fist.”

She mumbled something about taking kickboxing lessons, but he wasn’t really paying attention. His jaw clenched almost painfully as he ran his eyes over the already bruised and swollen fingers she was cradling.

There was no doubt in his mind that she’d broken them.

He’d had enough broken bones in his lifetime to know how to spot one. Thankfully broken fingers usually healed within a few hours thanks to Sentinel blood.