Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)

Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9) Page 38

Gabriel chuckled. “Yeah, running isn’t really your style.” He smiled at Connor, who mawed the mouthful of goo with bright and happy eyes. “Kid loves carrots. Craziest thing. Tanya and I both hate them.”

He used the rubber edge of the spoon to clean up Connor’s mouth, then passed the utensil to Tanya and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel.

“The Pack is gone,” he said. “You upheld your deal to investigate while they were here. And when the elves were attacked in daylight, they knew it wasn’t your doing. The Brecks haven’t left, obviously, but solving a mystery isn’t going to change their minds about you.”

“No,” Ethan said. “I imagine it will not.”

“And you still have the elves to sate,” Gabriel said. “You owe them Niera, or we’ll all have hell to pay.”

I imagined Chicago overrun with androgynous bow-and-arrow-wielding elves. Considering the state of their technology, couldn’t the military handle them easily?

Ethan looked at me. “I know what you’re thinking, Sentinel. That they’d be no match for black helicopters. But locusts do not need weapons to constitute a plague. They only have to be themselves.”

A potent metaphor.

“Safe travels and good luck,” Gabriel said, standing and offering each of us a hand. “You do your species proud.”

“Call me the next time you’re in the city,” Ethan said, then slid his gaze to me. “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Gabriel smiled wolfishly. “So we do, Sullivan. So we do.”

• • •

I let Ethan drive back to Chicago. Considering his looming incarceration, it seemed only fair.

I also let him select the channel, and he found a station playing hard-driving Chicago- and Delta-style blues. The songs were grim, their lyrics telling tales of love and love lost, of heartache and adversity. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and his gaze on the road, but he seemed buoyed by the music, by the reminders that hard times were universal, but time always marched on. Usually in twelve bars.

Ethan pulled directly into the House garage and parked the car in the spot he’d given me—but solely for the protection of Moneypenny. Ethan keyed us into the House but paused before ascending the stairway to the first floor, clearly contemplating what he was about to do.

“Maybe we should take the back stairway,” I suggested. “We can put down our bags, and you can have a few minutes to collect yourself.”

He looked back at me, smiled. I caught a brief flicker of gratitude in his eyes, as if he’d had the same thought but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without appearing cowardly.

We walked to the other end of the basement and the service stairway, climbed to the third floor, and then walked down the hallway to our apartments. The House smelled faintly like cinnamon and flowers, and none of the faint animal tang that permeated the Brecks’.

We found the apartments just as we’d left them. Cool, dark, beautifully appointed. The furniture was European, the ceilings high, the walls painted in warm colors. A vase of hothouse peonies sat on a side table, filling the room with the smell of flowers and the spring that would soon be approaching.

Ethan put his bag on the bed and walked to one of the windows, then pulled back the lush silk and velvet drapes that covered it. I dropped my bag and followed him, let him gather me into his arms as he stared out into the night. Unlike at the Brecks’ estate, there was light aplenty in Chicago. We were in the middle of a residential neighborhood, with the lights of downtown in the distance. Snow still covered the grounds that surrounded the House, giving it an ethereal glow.

Ethan sighed, embraced me tighter.

“She can’t hold you forever. There’s no evidence.”

“She shouldn’t,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t try. Especially if she’s squawking about domestic terrorism and ignoring the city’s other problems in the meantime.”

“As long as she doesn’t mess up your pretty face.”

Ethan leaned back and peered at me. “My pretty face?”

“I’m dating you because you make good arm candy.”

He made a dubious sound, squeezed me one more time, and then let me go. “We have the city’s best lawyers,” he said. “We’ll hope that will be enough.”

I hoped he was right, but hope wasn’t going to bring him home again.

Chapter Fifteen

PARTING IS SUCH (BITTER)SWEET SORROW

Ethan changed from his jeans and shirt into a button-down shirt, black pants, and a suit jacket with modern lines and a fashionably snug fit. He pulled back his hair, then glanced at me.

“You’re incredibly handsome for a felon and terrorist,” I told him, hoping to get a smile. I got an arched eyebrow, which was good enough.

We descended the stairs together, fingers linked. The foyer was full of vampires, and I had a sudden sympathy for the wives of discredited politicians who’d made similar appearances, trying to maintain a pleasant smile while lawyers and vampires mingled at the bottom of the stairs like sharks preparing to feed.

The magic in the air was frazzled and nervous, flitting about the room like stinging bolts of lightning. Ethan’s vampires were nervous, and understandably so.

“Andrew,” Ethan said, extending a hand to the man in the very well-cut black suit who stood beside Malik and Luc. He had dark skin, short hair, and a French-cut goatee that joined the moustache above his lip. His eyes were dark and set beneath a dark brow. His expression was serious.

“Ethan,” he said, and they shook hands heartily. “You’re ready?”

Ethan nodded, put a hand at the small of my back. “Andrew, my significant other. Merit. She stands Sentinel for the House. Merit, this is Andrew Bailey of Fitzhugh and Meyers.”

Andrew and I shook hands as he gave me an efficient appraisal. “A pleasure to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“Same here,” I said.

He glanced at Ethan. “Why don’t we talk for a few minutes? I’d like to explain how this will proceed.”

“My office,” Ethan said, then glanced back at the other vampires in the foyer, who’d gathered a second time in just a few days to ensure his safety and see him off.

“I won’t leave without saying good-bye,” Ethan said with a smile, which made them chuckle in relief. “We’ll discuss the details and be back shortly.”

Ethan shined in times of crisis. He knew when others needed him to be strong, and he filled that role with aplomb.

I followed Ethan, Andrew, Luc, and Malik to the office, squeezing Lindsey’s hand as we passed her on the way.

“Glad you got home safely,” she whispered, and I nodded.

The décor in Ethan’s office matched the rest of the House. European furniture, careful accessories, built-in shelves of beautiful wood, and vases of flowers. His desk filled the front right side of the room, a conversation area the left. There was a conference table across the back.

Luc headed directly for the bar tucked into the built-in bookshelves on the far side and poured amber liquor into a short glass. He downed it immediately.

“Rough week, Lucas?” Ethan asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” Luc said, drinking another finger of Scotch before putting the bottle away again.

“Navarre’s status?” Ethan asked.

“The vampires are back in the House, but they’re basically under House arrest. Grey took in six vampires—folks who were away when the raid happened and didn’t want to go back.”

Ethan looked at Andrew. “They’ll release Navarre House if I go in? And please take a seat, or have a drink if you’d like. The bar is open.”

“I’m fine, and I’d rather stand if you don’t mind.”

Ethan nodded, and we all stayed standing. This didn’t seem like the time to get comfy on the couch. I certainly wasn’t in the mood to relax.

“To your question, yes: Kowalcyzk’s representatives have advised the units will have no further interest in Navarre if you go in.”

I guess that confirmed Kowalcyzk’s extortion.

“We’re communicating with Navarre’s lawyers, so we can ensure she actually keeps her promise. They’re relieved that you’re here.”

“Understandable,” Ethan said. “And when I go in?”

“You’ll be interviewed about the death of Harold Monmonth,” Andrew said. “But not by the CPD. They still have a warrant for your arrest, but the mayor is using her domestic terrorism task force to conduct these interviews. That takes them outside the purview of the CPD, which is unfortunate, as I understand you have allies there.”

“Some,” Ethan said. “Although likely enemies as well.”

Andrew nodded. “The firm has contacts in Homeland Security, and I’ve contacted them, requested they make contact with the mayor’s office, provide some oversight. I don’t know how far that will go, but I prefer to have the protections in place rather than leaving an ambitious politician with no evidence and less foresight in charge.”

“Our opinions align,” Ethan said.

“The interview will take place at the Daley Center,” Andrew continued. That building held the city and county offices. “I won’t be in the interview room with you—no right to a lawyer as a suspected domestic terrorist—but I’ve arranged for the room to have two-way glass. I’ll be outside. They’ll keep you there until they’re satisfied they’ve gotten the answers they want, even if it means the sun’s in the sky.”

“They have a dark room?” Malik asked.

“They do. They understand you’re essentially unconscious, not by choice, when the sun comes up. They’ve arranged for a room without windows so you can bed down. And the interview room doesn’t have windows, either, just in case they decide to get creative around sunrise.”