The man with the tangled mop of red hair dropped to his knees as the blow landed across his face.
"Idiot!" Cynthia Deevers said, her voice deathly soft. "Why wasn't I informed that she was…wed…to a Garou?"
Rising to his feet, the red-head worked his jaw a bit.
"What difference does it make? He wasn't there when we nabbed her, and I can't see how he can find her."
"You are an idiot," she said again. "You, of all people, should know that a Garou can tell the different scents of blood. You should know of the fierce loyalty that a werewolf possesses, but I guess a Ronin has no loyalty to anyone."
"Watch your tone," he growled. "I may be Ronin, but I'm the only one who's done anything on this operation. If it wasn't for me, your men would have either gotten themselves killed or would have killed her."
"Yes, Mr. Stokes, and you've been amply rewarded for your services. Since you brought it up, though, I do want to ask a question. I told you I wanted Ramsey unharmed, yet there is a large gash across her thigh. Why is that?"
The big man, Stokes, snorted.
"You'll have to ask her. That crazy bitch was so busy trying to tear your boys up, she ended up slicing her own leg open. Damn near looked like she did it on purpose, the way she flipped the blood around."
"What? That's insane, why would someone shed their own blood if it was obvious they weren't going to be…." Deevers trailed off, and a look of realization moved across her eyes. Turning, she snapped at one of her flunkies.
"Move Ramsey, NOW! Get her out to the yacht and make sure no one – and I mean no one – sees you."
"What'd I miss?" Stokes asked.
"Only the obvious, as usual, you moron." Deevers began packing up her files on her desk and slipped on a smart-looking suit jacket. "Ramsey cut herself and spread her blood as a calling card to her Garou bastard. She spilled some of her blood in the other room, too, but I didn't think anything of it. She's leaving a trail."
"Can't we just…I don't know, clean it up? Gallon of bleach or something?"
"The more you talk, Stokes, the less regard I have for you. As a werewolf, you should know you can't hide a scent from a Garou. Especially in this case, since it's a scent he'd be so familiar with. You messed up, Stokes. I told you to take her quietly, not to leave traces. And that was before I even knew she had anyone else in her life. He might have assumed she was just missing, wandered off. One could hope for the best. Now, though," she said, fury in her eyes, "now he knows she was taken against her will, and I guarantee he's going to be looking for her."