Sarita nodded.
“So Uncle Lucian rounded up as many Rogue Hunters as he felt he could spare and flew down here to try to find Dressler. They quickly realized that he was a university professor here in Venezuela. But he must have caught wind that they were coming, or perhaps he suspected they might when he didn’t hear from his men, because by the time the hunters landed in Caracas, Dr. Dressler had gone on sabbatical.”
“During their first week here, all they were able to learn was that Dressler had both an apartment in the city where he stayed while teaching at the university, and a residence on an island somewhere that he went to on weekends and during summer break. No one seemed to know the name of the island, though, or where it was, although it was mentioned that he had a helicopter as well as several boats that he used to get back and forth. So Uncle Lucian decided they would have to check every island within five hundred miles of Caracas.”
Sarita blinked and asked with disbelief, “Five hundred?”
Domitian shrugged. “He was being conservative in the hopes of speeding up the hunt.”
“You think five hundred miles is conservative?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.
“Si,” he assured her. “The apartment in the city might have been necessary only for the nights he had evening classes. But it may also have been because the island was too far to travel to and from daily so that the island house was like a cottage would be to an American or Canadian. Helicopters can travel at speeds of one hundred and forty miles an hour. Five hundred miles would only take three and a half hours or a little more to travel to.”
“Hmm,” she murmured with a nod. A couple of guys at work had cottages up north in the Muskokas, a good three-hour drive away or more depending on traffic and coffee stops. One of them had invited a bunch of their coworkers out to the cottage one weekend last summer. Sarita had been one of those invited and she’d been chatting with the people in the neighboring cottage. They lived farther south and drove five hours to reach their cottage every weekend. Driving up Friday night and leaving Sunday afternoon. If the island house was used as a cottage for Dr. Dressler, three or four hours wouldn’t be that far to go she supposed.
“Anyway,” Domitian continued, “Uncle Lucian divided the areas up into four quadrants and sent two teams of two hunters out to each.”
“What happened?” she asked at once when he paused.
“Nothing at first,” he answered. “They were using boats, not helicopters, in the hopes of making a stealthy approach, but it was a lot of area to cover.”
“And?” Sarita prompted when he fell silent.
“The third day two teams from two different quadrants did not report in,” Domitian admitted solemnly. “Two women, Eshe, my aunt by marriage, and Mirabeau La Roche McGraw made up one team, and my cousins Decker and Nicholas made up the second team.”
“Oh,” Sarita breathed softly. She’d known he knew some of the missing immortals but hadn’t realized they were family, and she asked, “Your aunt and cousins are Rogue Hunters too like your sister?”
“Si,” Domitian murmured, and then cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway, when the two teams didn’t turn up by dawn, Uncle Lucian tried to have their phones tracked, but they must have been disabled. So he pulled everyone off the other two quadrants, and split them up between the two quadrants the teams had gone missing from. But now they were looking for the missing hunters as well as the island Dressler owns.”
“Did he check the land registry office?” Sarita asked and then frowned. “That’s what it’s called in Canada, I don’t remember what it is called here, if I ever even knew, but they must have some record of who buys what properties.”
Domitian nodded. “They checked. There is no property listed to a Ramsey Dressler in Venezuela.”
“Ramsey,” Sarita muttered. She’d never known Dr. Dressler’s first name. Her grandmother had never mentioned it. Shaking her head, she said, “He must have used another name then.”
“Si, that is what is suspected, but we have no idea what name he might have used.”
“Right,” Sarita breathed. “So, I gather from the fact that Dressler is still out here torturing people with his experiments that they didn’t find the island?”
“No, and another four hunters went missing. This time one from each team of two.”
“What?” she asked with amazement. “How?”
Domitian shrugged helplessly. “No one knows. With each team it was the same story. The other hunter was there, and then suddenly was not.”
Sarita stared at him blankly and then shook her head. “Well, the ones who came back had to have seen or heard something. They were on boats, right?”
“Si, but the hunters who returned were all piloting the boats. In each case they said they were skimming through the water, glanced around to say something to their partner, and they were gone. They did not hear or see anything to suggest a struggle. And whatever happened was quick. In two cases the missing man was holding a conversation with the pilot when it happened. They said something, the pilot responded, glanced back to them, and they were not there.”
“Oh, that’s just spooky,” Sarita declared after a moment.
“Si,” Domitian murmured.
“None of them were related to you this time, were they?” she asked with concern.
Domitian nodded slowly. “My uncle Victor, and Lucern, another cousin, were among those taken. My sister, Drina, was on one of the teams, but fortunately, she was piloting the boat. She returned, but the man partnered with her, a man named Santo Notte, did not.”
“Your sister is here in Venezuela?”
“Si. Uncle Lucian called in all the Rogue Hunters in North America after my aunt and cousins went missing. There are several civilians down here now too trying to help, which has Uncle Lucian furious,” he added wryly.
“Why would that upset him?” Sarita asked with surprise.
“Because he’s lost so many hunters who are skilled and trained for situations like this. He considers it far too dangerous to have nonhunters here and fears they will just be cannon fodder.”
“But he let you help,” she pointed out.
“Actually, he refused my help when I first offered it,” Domitian admitted with a crooked smile, and explained, “When I learned he and the others had flown in, I went directly to the villas they’d rented and offered to help, but he said no, it was too dangerous and I was not a hunter.” He shrugged. “So I returned to my restaurant and helped the only way I could.”
“Food?” she guessed at once.
Domitian nodded. “I cooked large batches of food four or five times a day and sent it to the villa.”
“I’m sure they appreciated that,” she assured him.
He shrugged, and continued, “I offered my assistance again when my aunt and cousins went missing, but again was refused.”
Sarita reached out and covered his hand sympathetically. He seemed perfectly calm about it all, but she could sense the frustration and anger simmering under the surface at not being allowed to help search for his missing family members.
Domitian stared at her hand briefly, then turned his own over and clasped her fingers gently, his shoulders relaxing somewhat.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “what changed? Why did he let you help in the end?”
“You,” Domitian said squeezing her fingers lightly.
“Me?” she asked with surprise.
“Si,” he said solemnly. “Dressler has been a regular in my restaurant for at least two years and has offered me a job as his personal chef every couple of months during that time. But two days ago, he called and offered it again. This time, though, he mentioned that Sarita, the granddaughter of one of his employees, was coming for a visit and he wished to offer her more than the slop his regular cook served.”
“Aleta doesn’t serve slop,” Sarita said, snatching her hand away and scowling at him for the insult to the woman.
“He said it, not me,” Domitian assured her solemnly. “And now that I know he knew all along that you are my life mate, I am sure it was just an excuse to mention your name and let me know you were here.”