Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have any information about V or where it might be coming from. Like Catcher had said, as the third-biggest city in the country, Chicago wasn’t exactly immune from drug problems.

  Detective Jacobs also didn’t share any strategies with me, so if he had plans to do his own infiltrating, I wasn’t aware of it. But he did give me a card and asked me to call him if I discovered anything else, or if I had anything I thought he could help with.

  I doubted Ethan would want me involving veteran CPD vice detectives in the investigation of our drug problem.

  But that’s why I’d been named Sentinel, I thought, tucking the card into my pocket.

  Ethan sat in a plastic chair in the hallway. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He tapped his thumbs together, his blond hair tucked behind his ears. It was the kind of pose you’d have seen on a family member in a hospital waiting room—tired, tense, anticipating the worst.

  His head lifted at the sound of my boots on the tile floor. He stood up immediately, then moved toward me. “You’re all right?”

  I nodded. “I’m fine. My grandfather thought it would be better to get the story from me.”

  “It seemed like the fairest decision,” said a voice behind me.

  I glanced back to see my grandfather moving down the hall toward us. Ethan extended his hand. “Mr. Merit. Thank you for your help.”

  My grandfather shook his hand, but he also shook his head. “Thank your Sentinel. She’s a fine representative of your House.”

  Ethan looked at me, pride—and love?—in his eyes. “We’re in agreement there.”

  “I’m tired,” I said, “and I don’t have a car.

  Could we go back to the House?”

  “Absolutely.” Ethan’s gaze shifted to my grandfather. “Did you need anything else from us?”

  “No. We’re done for now. Enjoy the rest of your night—to the extent possible.”

  “Unlikely,” I said, patting his arm. “But we’ll do the best we can.”

  But before we could take a step toward the exit, the doors at the end of the hallway pushed open. Tate walked through, followed by a squadron of suit-clad assistants. They looked drowsy, and I sympathized; it was a crappy job that required hangers-on to wear suits at five fifteen in the morning.

  Tate strode toward us, both sympathy and irritation in his expression. I figured the irritation was offered up by his strategic half, the political leader anticipating nasty commercials about “the vampire problem.” The sympathy was probably offered up by his baby-kissing half.

  He looked at my grandfather first. “The situation is contained?”

  “It is, Mr. Mayor. Things at the bar are in hand, and Merit came in and provided us with a very detailed statement so we can get a handle on the issue.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’re still figuring that out, sir. You’ll have my report as soon as I can type it.”

  Tate nodded. “Appreciate that, Chuck.” He glanced at Ethan. “Is this related to the problem I asked you to address?”

  “It may be,” Ethan vaguely said. “Merit is spending most of her free time investigating it, including this evening.”

  Tate’s expression softened and went all-politician. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

  Oh, I could tell, I blandly thought. You probably appreciated it ten to fifteen points in the polls.

  Tate reached out and shook my hand, and then my grandfather’s. “Merit, let’s stay in touch.

  Chuck, I look forward to your report.”

  He reached out to shake Ethan’s hand, but instead of a simple shake, he leaned toward Ethan and whispered something in his ear.

  Ethan’s shoulder’s stiffened, and he stared blankly ahead, barely controlling his anger, when Tate walked away.

  Ethan’s car was parked in a secured lot beside the station. I barely made the short walk. The drama was beginning to take a collective toll; for all my extra vampire strength, I was tired. My brain was fuzzy, my body was exhausted, and my temperature was that strange deep-seated cold that you get before the flu starts up.

  Ethan opened the door for me and shut it again when I was inside. I checked the clock on the dashboard; it was nearly five forty-five, about twenty minutes before dawn. Another late night—and another race against the rising sun.

  Silently, Ethan climbed into the car and started the motor.

  I made one final play at being the dutiful Sentinel. “Do you want to debrief now?”

  He must have seen the exhaustion in my eyes, because he shook his head. “Luc filled me in on the major points, and the morning news programs are already on the case. Rest for now.”

  I must have taken the direction literally, because I remember nodding in agreement—but not the rest of the ride home. As soon as he pulled out of his parking spot and began spiraling back down through the parking garage, I dropped my head onto the headrest. I woke up again as the car descended into the Cadogan parking lot.

  “You are tired,” he said.

  I put a hand over my mouth to hide the burgeoning yawn. “It’s nearly dawn.”

  “So it is.”

  We sat there awkwardly for a moment, like a couple at the end of a first date, neither quite sure what’s expected of the other.

  Ethan made the first move, opening his door and stepping outside. I did the same, wobbling a little as I exited the car, but staying on my feet. I could feel the tug of the sun, my nerves itching with exhaustion, my body screaming that it was time to find a soft, dark place to wait out the day.

  “You going to make it upstairs?” he asked.

  “I’ll make it.” I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, blinking to keep my eyes focused.

  “The sun does a number on you,” Ethan said as he typed in the code to the basement door, then held it open while I walked through like a near zombie. I was conscious enough to realize that he didn’t seem to have the same trouble.

  “You’re less affected?” I asked as we walked to the stairs.

  “I’m older,” he explained. “Your body is still adjusting to the genetic change, to the differences between being diurnal and nocturnal. As you get older, you’ll find the pull easier to manage. More a gentle suggestion than a grab-and-go.”

  I was capable only of muttering a sound of agreement. By some miracle I made it to the second-floor landing without falling over.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Ethan said, and headed for the stairs. But I called his name to stop him. He glanced back.

  “What did Tate whisper in your ear?”

  “He said, ‘Fix this, goddamn it, or else.’ We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALL THAT GLITTERS

  As Ethan had pointed out, one obvious downside of being nocturnal was the fact that the sun exerted more power on me than I cared to admit.

  On the other hand, I didn’t need caffeine to wake up. I might have spent a few minutes being groggy, but the haze blew off quickly enough, leaving a wideawake (and usually starving) vampire in its wake.

  I started the evening with a bowl of crunchy cinnamon cereal and as much blood as I could stomach. I’d done a lot of fighting last night, and my stress level had been pretty high. Fighting and stress generally tripped my hunger trigger faster than anything else.

  Well, maybe other than Ethan. I could confirm the bagged stuff didn’t compare in taste to the real thing, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying. Nutrition was all well and good, but the emotional comfort also paid off.

  I showered and dressed in my Cadogan black.

  I wasn’t sure what the night held in store, but I was confident that after last night’s escapades Darius would be involved at some point. It was probably best to dress a bit nicer than I had been the last time he’d seen me.

  I brushed my hair until it shone and added my Cadogan medal and Mary Jane sh
oes. I’d been so busy with vampire drama that I’d forgotten about Mallory’s sorcery drama, so before I went downstairs I flipped open my phone. I found a message from my father, probably another entreaty to allow him to help Cadogan House.

  Joshua Merit was nothing if not persistent.

  I sent Mallory a message checking in, and got back a quick response: “BETTER TONIGHT.

  PRACTICUM ON HEALING MAGIC. FUN!”

  I wasn’t sure if her “Fun!” was sarcastic, but

  “healing magic” sounded a lot better than dark magic.

  My phone buzzed again just as I was shutting my door. This time, it was a text from Lindsey, and not a promising one.

  “WE NEED TO TALK,” she’d texted.

  I hated hearing that. My fingers were fast on the keys. “HOUSE TRAUMA?”

  “BOY TRAUMA,” she replied, and my shoulders unknotted a bit. “DRAMA OF MY OWN MAKING.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to have boy trauma or drama. She’d been with me last night, and it wasn’t yet an hour after sunset. I couldn’t resist asking.

  “HOW COULD YOU HAVE BOY DRAMA THIS EARLY IN THE EVENING?”

  “JUST FIND ME LATER,” she responded.

  “THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS.”

  Wasn’t that always true?

  A potentially distressing conversation with Lindsey on my agenda for later, I made my way downstairs to Ethan’s office. I found him alone, the door open, adjusting the knickknacks he’d salvaged from the battle on his new bookshelves.

  “A little interior decorating to start the night?”

  “Trying to make my office feel like my office again.”

  “Procrastination can be very satisfying.”

  He laughed ruefully. “As you pointed out, it may be a very human emotion, but there’s undoubtedly something satisfying about pretending the world is fine and your problems will keep until you’re ready to deal with them.”

  “It’s a lovely coping mechanism,” I agreed.

  “I’m glad you’ve made it to our side. Where’s Darius tonight?”

  “Scott won the lottery this evening; Darius is at Grey House.” He turned and glanced at me.

  “Tell me you learned something last night. Tell me this mess will have some good end.”

  “How much should I tell you? I mean, I don’t want to put you into an awkward position with Darius.”

  Ethan made a sarcastic sound. “You clearly haven’t seen last night’s local news.”

  I hadn’t, and by the tone of his voice, I probably wouldn’t want to. “That bad?”

  “It’s so bad, Darius hasn’t called me yet.”

  I grimaced. The only thing worse than being yelled at by a boss was having screwed up so royally, he’d moved right into silent treatment.

  I decided not to sugarcoat it. There were details I didn’t need to give—information about the vamps who’d actually bought and used the drugs, for one—but I wasn’t going to give him a false sense of the problem.

  “It all comes down to V,” I began. “It’s a drug for vampires, not humans. It’s somehow making them more aggressive. The House bars, at least for Grey and Cadogan, have been used as distribution points. I’m not sure about Navarre.”

  I gave him a moment to process that information; by the look of him, he needed it. He put an elbow on the shelf, then rubbed his temples with a hand.

  “I have put up with a lot in this House,” he said. “Unfortunately, vampires aren’t any more immune to stupidity than humans.” He dropped his hand and looked away, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with disappointment. “I would have hoped that they respected the House—and me—more than this.”

  “I’m sorry, Ethan.”

  He shook his head, and shook it off. “Tell me about the bar.”

  “Colin hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. I asked Jeff to pull the security footage so we can figure out how it’s getting in. It’s definitely getting in, although I had everyone hand over their stash so they couldn’t bring it back into the House.”

  “And so it wouldn’t be found on them if the cops patted them down.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “But my grandfather had already found it in the bar, so he’d already put two and two together. I gave him the rest of the drugs, and that’s when they brought in Detective Jacobs.”

  “Your theory?”

  “Still working it out. In terms of the overall picture, we’ve now had two instances of extra-violent vamps and drugs in the same place at the same time. As for the why of it . . .” I shrugged.

  “Who’s pushing the drugs? Someone who wants us in trouble? Someone who wants vamps bringing down the Houses on their own?

  Someone who wants to take us down one pill at a time?”

  “That doesn’t sound like Celina,” he pointed out.

  “Not unless she’s decided all vamps have to suffer for her crimes,” I agreed. “Morgan didn’t think that was likely, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Until you have more evidence, I’m not conceding that point. What about McKetrick?

  He’s focused on forcing us out of Chicago.

  Perhaps he’s pushing V to rile up vampires and pressure Tate into deporting us?”

  “McKetrick was outside the bar last night,” I said. “I saw him, then pointed him out to Catcher. He was going to tail McKetrick and get what info he could.” I made a mental note to follow up with him later. “That said, McKetrick may hate us, but making vamps extra-aggressive risks a lot of collateral damage. I don’t see it being part of his master plan.”

  “Whoever is behind it, we need to find them and stop the distribution before things get any worse.”

  “Coincidence—those are the first two things on my to-do list.”

  “I have item three for you. Dinner at Grey House this evening with Darius and the Masters.

  Darius also invited Gabriel and Tonya. One o’clock. We’ll leave from here. And it’s formal, of course.”

  Since Darius seemed like a rules stickler, the formal bit didn’t surprise me. But I was curious about his invitation to Gabriel and Tonya, Gabriel’s wife. Vampires and shifters had a historically nasty relationship—a lot of distrust and angst by vampires, a lot of eye rolling and denial by shifters.

  “Why invite Gabriel and Tonya?” I asked.

  “If I was being generous, I’d say Darius was interested in improving inter-sup relations. But he’s more likely attempting to micromanage our relationship with the Packs. It would be bad for the Chicago Houses to completely alienate the Packs. But in Darius’s mind, it would be altogether worse to become too cozy with them.

  There’ve never been official allegiances with a Pack before. If we pulled it off, it would indicate a definite shift in power in our direction.”

  At his mention of the potential Pack allegiance, I looked away. Ethan’s fear that our relationship—or our future breakup—would endanger our burgeoning friendship with the North American Central was the reason he’d given for the breakup he now regretted.

  “Come on,” Ethan suddenly said, walking toward the door.

  I glanced up again, moved from my reverie.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Ops Room. I was supposed to have you downstairs fifteen minutes ago.”

  I followed him obediently to the basement stairs and toward the Ops Room. The door was open; Luc, Juliet, Kelley, Malik, and Lindsey were already assembled around the conference table. Luc, in a faded denim shirt and jeans, was an interesting contrast to the rest of the guards, who were all dressed in black.

  Ethan closed the door. I took an empty seat at the table, and he took the chair beside me.

  I glanced between Luc and Lindsey, who sat on opposite ends of the table, trying to read the tea leaves regarding her message earlier. But she wore her usual expression of mildly amused boredom; Luc was scanning the paper on the Ops Room table, a steaming mug in his hand. If they were at odds, I couldn’t tell, and there wasn’t any
obviously negative magic in the air.

  “Finally, they join us,” Luc said, sipping his drink. Normally, that kind of comment would have been a tease coming from him. This time, it sounded like a rebuke, and Luc didn’t normally err toward grouchiness. Maybe he and Lindsey had gotten into something.

  “We were on our best behavior,” Ethan advised him. “Merit was filling me in on last night’s investigation.”

  “Do tell,” Luc said.

  “Long story short, it’s the V that’s been causing the violence.”

  Luc frowned, sat up, and put his mug on the tabletop, hands wrapped around it like it was providing necessary warmth. I’d been cold as a newbie vampire, and it had taken some time to ward off that chill. But it was August and probably ninety degrees outside. I didn’t understand people who drank coffee in the heat of summer.

  “Why would some lowlife sell drugs to vamps and get them together for parties? What’s he trying to accomplish?”

  “Merit thinks McKetrick might be involved,” Ethan said, “that maybe it’s a ploy to get vamps out of the city.”

  I put up a hand. “That was actually Ethan’s idea,” I said, giving credit where credit was due .

  . . or distributing the blame accordingly.

  Luc tilted his head back and forth while he considered it. “Whoever came up with it, it’s not a bad idea, although manufacturing the drug, distributing it, organizing the parties, and everything else in the chain means a lot of work just to get rid of a population. There are easier ways.”

  “Agreed,” Malik said. “And at the risk of jumping on one of our favorite bandwagons, the first witness saw a woman named Marie. Any votes for Celina?”

  “But we haven’t heard anything about her since then,” I pointed out. “So if she is involved, she’s staying under the radar. I’m having Jeff Christopher check the bar’s security tapes, so if there’s any sign of her—or any more details about the seller—we’ll find them.”