Chapter 4 #2
Simon's mentor hadn't changed much in the three years since he'd officially retired from fieldwork.
Same weathered face, same calculating dark eyes, same way of standing that suggested he could still take down half the room despite being north of fifty.
He gave Simon the slightest nod—not of greeting, but of acknowledgment.
You're in deep shit, that nod said.
"Sit," Harmon commanded, gesturing to the single chair positioned at the opposite end of the table. The hot seat. Simon had seen other hunters called to it but never occupied it himself.
But he'd always known he'd end up here sooner or later.
Harmon must be salivating at the chance to finally lay into him.
Simon sat, keeping his posture straight, his hands visible on the table.
"You want to explain what happened last night?" his superior demanded.
"I tracked the target to the laundromat as reported. He escaped."
"He escaped." Harmon repeated the words slowly, as if tasting something foul. "You're telling me that Charlie Dracul, who we have numerous reports of being one of the most dangerous vampires in the city, simply... escaped? From you?"
"Yes."
Fitzgerald leaned forward. "Did you call for backup?"
"No."
"Did you set a perimeter?"
"No."
"Did you follow any of the protocols we have in place for high-risk targets?"
Simon met his gaze steadily. "I assessed the situation and acted accordingly."
"You assessed." Madeline Cross pulled up something on her tablet. "Just like you 'assessed' the Rosebrier situation and went in alone? Or the warehouse raid where you ignored direct orders to wait for the strike team?"
"Both of those were successful eliminations."
"That's not the point!" Harmon's palm slammed the table. "You think you're better than everyone else. You think the rules don't apply to you because you've got the highest kill count. Well, guess what? Last night proves you're not infallible."
Simon kept his expression neutral, even as his jaw tightened.
How long had Harmon been waiting for his chance to say that?
"The intelligence was flawed," Simon explained.
Madeline's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"The reports about Charlie Dracul. They don't match what I observed."
"So now you're questioning our intelligence gathering?" Harmon pressed.
"I'm saying the target didn't display the characteristics described in the file. There are no police reports corroborating the supposed kills. No missing persons. No evidence."
"And you determined all this in the thirty seconds before he escaped?" Fitzgerald's scarred hands had stopped drumming. "Or did you do unauthorized investigating afterward?"
Simon said nothing.
Harmon stood slowly, planting both hands on the table.
"Let me explain something to you, since you seem to have forgotten.
When Intelligence provides a target assessment, you trust it.
When Field Operations creates protocols, you follow them.
When I give an order, you obey it. You are not a one-man army. You are part of an organization."
"An organization that's benefited from my skills."
"An organization you're making look incompetent!" Harmon very nearly glared at him.
From his position against the wall, Reuben Stone finally spoke. "Perhaps we should discuss this more productively."
Everyone turned to look at him.
Reuben pushed off from the wall, easily taking authority over the room. "Simon's methods have saved this organization time, resources, and lives. One failure doesn't erase that."
"His methods are going to get him killed," Fitzgerald muttered.
"His methods," Reuben continued calmly, "are effective precisely because he thinks independently. I personally trained him to be exceptional. We can't be surprised when he acts like it."
Simon caught the slight emphasis on 'trained.' Reuben had been the one to recruit him after his mother's death, had spent years honing Simon's natural abilities into something lethal. Every lesson had been about control, discipline, channeling his rage into purpose.
And other things, a voice in the back of Simon's mind whispered. Things they never mentioned anymore.
"That said," Reuben moved closer to the table, "Simon knows he acted outside acceptable parameters. Don't you?"
It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," Simon said.
Harmon sat back down, visibly trying to regain his composure. "You have forty-eight hours."
Simon blinked. "Sir?"
"Forty-eight hours to bring in Charlie Dracul. Properly this time. Following protocols. With regular check-ins." Harmon's gray eyes were cold. "Fitzgerald will assign you a partner—"
"No."
The word came out harder than Simon intended. Everyone stared at him.
"No?" Harmon's voice dropped dangerously low.
"I can't work with a partner on this." Simon's mind raced for acceptable reasons. "I already had the vampire in my sights. I know what to do. Adding an unknown element now will complicate the approach. I need to—"
"What you need," Fitzgerald interrupted, "is someone watching your back since you clearly can't catch this one by yourself."
"Actually," Reuben said quietly, "Simon has a point."
The room went silent again.
Reuben walked around the table, asserting himself. "Introducing a partner now would require additional briefing time and an adjustment of approach. We don't have that kind of time if the forty-eight hour deadline is firm."
"Since when do we let hunters dictate their own terms?" Madeline asked.
"Since they've proven themselves one hundred and seventeen times." Reuben stopped beside Harmon's chair. "If Simon says he works best by himself, we should let him prove it."
Harmon looked between Reuben and Simon, clearly unhappy. "If he fails again—"
"He won't," Reuben said simply. "Will you, Simon?"
"No, sir."
Fitzgerald shook his head. "This is a mistake. He needs oversight."
"He'll have it," Reuben said. "Regular check-ins, as you said. Full compliance with the rules." He looked directly at Simon. "And he takes his full supplement regimen. No skipping doses because he thinks he doesn't need them."
Simon's jaw tightened. He'd been rationing his supplements lately, trying to stretch them out. The Organization provided them free of charge—allegedly vitamin combinations to keep him in peak physical condition.
But Reuben and Simon knew what they really were.
"Fine," Harmon said finally. "Forty-eight hours. Solo. But if you fail, Simon, this case will be out of your hands entirely. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Cross will provide you with updated intelligence," Harmon continued. "And I want those check-ins on time. Not a minute late."
"Is that all?" Simon asked.
Harmon looked like he wanted to say more, but Reuben stepped forward slightly. A subtle intervention.
"That's all," Harmon said. "Cross, brief him on the updated parameters. Fitzgerald, a word."
Simon stood to leave, but Reuben's voice stopped him.
"Simon. My office after you're done with the briefing."
It wasn't a request.