Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But as for V, I don’t know. If she wanted ‘truer’ vampires, why not allow Navarre to drink?”

  Because if she’d allowed drinking, I thought, she wouldn’t have been able to demonize Cadogan. In any event, we could ferret out her motivations later. Right now, we needed evidence.

  I stared at the floor for a minute, trying to figure out if I was missing anything. But nothing occurred to me, as much as I wanted there to be an ultimate answer to all my V-related questions.

  When I looked up at Morgan again, I found his gaze on me, his expression surprisingly unguarded.

  “What?” I asked him.

  He gave me a flat look, the implication being that he’d been reminded of the affection for me that I didn’t share. No time like the present to cut off that train of thought.

  “I should get going,” I said. “I need to get changed.”

  “You bringing a date?”

  “Is there ever going to be a time that you don’t ask me about Ethan?”

  “Only when it stops irritating you to ask.”

  “Unlikely to happen.”

  “And there you are.”

  We stood there for a moment, and I caught the hint of a smile on his face. If he could manage to work through his anger, I could manage to have a good attitude about it.

  I headed for the door. “You’re such a comedian.”

  “I try, Merit. I really do.”

  “Good night, Morgan.”

  “Only for an hour,” he reminded me as I closed the door and walked back to the stairs.

  When I reached the first floor, the cadre of vendors still stood in the lobby, milling impatiently about as they waited for their turn with Nadia. I hoped they had more patience with the Navarre House staff than I did.

  When I returned to the House, Ethan and Luc met me at the door.

  I looked at Ethan, prepared to tell the tale one last time. Frankly, being a proactive Sentinel involved repeating the same information over and over and over again. But the tale needed to be told, so I sucked it up and did my duty.

  “Paulie Cermak is probably involved in the drug trade, and he’s not especially shy about it.

  He says he’s only a bit player. His digs are in pretty bad shape, but there’s a shiny, vintage Mustang in the garage.”

  I almost spilled out the rest, but thought ahead enough to glance at Ethan, a question in my eyes: Could I tell him? Could I implicate a member of the GP after the tongue-lashing I assumed he’d received from Darius? Or was I putting him in an even worse position?

  “At this point,” he said quietly, “there’s no harm in candor.”

  “In that case, I went to Navarre House and showed Morgan the picture of Cermak. Six months ago, Morgan saw Paulie coming out of Celina’s office. She called him a ‘vendor.’” I watched Ethan’s expression carefully, and I’m still not sure whether I saw relief or anxiety there. The news was equally bad and good—we had a witness who could link Celina to the man who sold V, but it was Celina. She was hands-off as far as the GP was concerned.

  Luc glanced around warily, then lowered his voice, as if expecting Darius to come waltzing in at any moment, receivership papers in hand. “So Celina and Paulie are acquaintances,” Luc said.

  “That makes it more likely Celina was the

  ‘Marie’ seen by the human, and the woman in the car.”

  “But we can’t prove that,” Ethan said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “And as much as it pains me to say it, that Paulie and Celina had a meeting half a year ago doesn’t mean she’s actively involved in setting up the raves or distributing V.”

  “And it’s unlikely she’s going to come forward and offer the evidence on a platter,” Luc said.

  “True,” I agreed, a plan already forming.

  “Which is precisely why we need to draw her out.”

  Ethan’s gaze snapped to me. “Draw her out?”

  “Prove that Paulie and Celina are connected.

  Use him to get to Celina, to draw her out, and to prove that she’s involved in distributing V and organizing the raves to help that endeavor.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Ethan asked. “What bait could we offer that would entice Celina?”

  The answer was easy. “Me.”

  Silence.

  “You have certainly grown into your position,” Ethan dryly said. “And your willingness to take risks on behalf of the House.”

  “I’m well aware that she can thoroughly kick my ass. That makes it less a risk—if more of an inevitability.”

  “You are stronger than the last time you met,” he pointed out. “You’ve bested shifters since then.”

  “She knocked me out with a single kick to the chest,” I pointed out, my ribs aching in sympathy. “But that’s not the point. For whatever reason, as we’ve discussed, she’s fascinated by me. If Paulie tells her I’ll be waiting, she’d probably take advantage.”

  Ethan frowned. “That is probably true.”

  “I have to do it,” I told him. “We’ve identified Paulie, and we know he’s involved with Celina.

  But we can’t close down V—halt the distribution —until we have proof, at least enough evidence to take to Tate. We don’t have to take it to the GP,” I reminded Ethan. “We only need to give Tate enough information to nail Paulie and Celina so the CPD can close the loop. If we can’t rely on the GP to bring her down,” I quietly added, “then let’s help Tate do it.”

  “She has a point, hoss,” Luc quietly agreed.

  “She’s our best means to pull Celina out.”

  After a moment, Ethan nodded. “Work your plan, Sentinel.” He tapped his watch. “But first, go get dressed.”

  I only just realized that he was already prepped for dinner in a slim-fit black suit and narrow black tie. That meant he’d be waiting on me.

  “I’ll go change,” I agreed. I was also going to head upstairs and use the phone number Jeff had given me to send a message to Paulie Cermak.

  One way or another, I was going to find her.

  GP be damned, I was going to bring her down.

  Much to my surprise, I found no dress hanging on my door when I returned upstairs. The last couple of times I’d had to make social appearances with Ethan, he’d given me decadent couture gowns, presumably so I wouldn’t embarrass the House with my usual jeans and tank tops. At first, I’d been offended by the gesture. But even a girl who cut her fangs on denim and Pumas could appreciate good design when it presented itself.

  This time, the door was empty of all but its small bulletin board, and the closet bore only the usual pieces of my wardrobe.

  Oh, well. It was probably for the best. I didn’t really have time to be the girl who needed Lanvin just to leave the House.

  Without a new option, I cleaned up and stepped into one of the other dresses Ethan had supplied. It was a knee-length, black cocktail dress, with a sleeveless bodice and swingy skirt, the fabric tucked into horizontal pleats from top to bottom.

  I opted for the black heels Ethan had provided with the dress, as well as a holster that went beneath the skirt and held my dagger in place against my thigh. My Cadogan medal was my only accessory, and I left my hair down, my bangs a dark fringe across my forehead.

  When I was made up, I sent a message to Paulie Cermak.

  “TELL MARIE I’M READY TO MEET HER.”

  The message sent, I slipped the phone into a small black clutch. It was time to go play with the boys.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  V IS FOR VALOR

  Ethan was waiting on the first floor by the newel post and looked up as I stepped onto the final stair. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” I smoothed my hands over the skirt self-consciously. “No objection to the fact that I’m wearing this dress again?”

  Ethan’s smile was teasing. “Don’t tell me you were looking forward to receiving another one?”

  “That would be ridiculous. I’m well above su
ch juvenile concerns.”

  His smile turned a little more philosophical.

  “You like the things you like. You take great joy in those things, and you should never be ashamed of that. The pleasure that you take in simple things—food, clothing, architecture—is a very attractive quality.”

  I looked away from the warmth in his eyes.

  “Are we ready?”

  “You have your dagger?”

  “I rarely leave home without it.”

  “Then to the Batcave, Sentinel.”

  He was in a rare, jovial mood, a mood lighter than I would have expected given the event we were about to attend. Ethan could definitely do formal; he looked good in a tux and knew how to schmooze a crowd. But the audience wasn’t likely to be receptive.

  When we were in the car and buckling our seat belts, our gazes caught.

  “Do you think McKetrick will attempt to waylay us this time?”

  He snorted and started the car. “Given our luck, quite possibly.”

  Fortunately, he was wrong. We made it to Lake Shore Drive without incident other than a nasty snarl that slowed traffic to a crawl. It was late, but that didn’t preclude a solid case of gaper’s block—the near standstill of traffic caused when drivers slowed to check out a wreck. In this case, there wasn’t even a wreck, just a couple of club-going girls who pouted beside their car while a cop wrote up a ticket.

  We were somewhere near Navy Pier when I broached the topic he hadn’t yet. “Are you going to tell me about your call with Darius?”

  I’d decided I’d rather have him punching trees than holding things back. At least with tree punching I could gauge how much trouble we were in. With silence, I had no clue.

  It took Ethan a moment to answer. “There’s no need to get into it.”

  “No need to tell your Sentinel what the head of the GP thinks about the House?”

  “Suffice it to say, he had choice words about my leadership.”

  I glanced over at him. “And that’s all you’re going to tell me? No venting?”

  “There are times when politics invade the House. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. But my job, as a Master, is to insulate you from those things.

  Not from the consideration of strategy and alliances and the like, but from political pressure from the top. You are to undertake the tasks appropriate to your position—and worrying about my job or Darius’s aren’t some of those tasks.”

  “Thank you. Except it doesn’t exactly help me prepare for the inevitable GP kick in the face.”

  He paused. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, you know.”

  I smiled toothily. “It’s one of my better qualities.”

  He humphed. “Well, to spare you the sordid details, he is quite convinced our investigation of the raves is only making the problem worse—and drawing more attention to it. He is of the opinion these are matters for the GP to handle, and if and when the GP feels action is appropriate, they will do so.”

  “Wow,” I sarcastically said. “That’s not at all shortsighted and naïve.”

  “Attention to detail has never been Darius’s strong suit. Call it the farsightedness of immortality—he often misses the trees for the forest.” Ethan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don’t know what to say to convince him otherwise, to make him understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “Maybe we should arrange for McKetrick and Darius to have a chat.”

  He chuckled. “Not an altogether bad idea.

  Although I’m not sure who’d win—the British bully or the American one.”

  “I wonder if, four months ago, you’d be thinking such things?”

  He slid me a glance. “Meaning what, Sentinel?”

  I thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to give voice to the idea. “On our good days, I think we make each other better. At our jobs, I mean,” I quickly clarified. “You remind me of the House, of the thing we fight for.”

  “And you remind me what it’s like to be human.”

  I nodded, now feeling a little silly for voicing the sentiment.

  “We are a good pair,” he said, and I didn’t disagree.

  We’d reached a détente. We seemed to be working well together right now—as if we’d found that delicate balance point between friends and lovers.

  I didn’t want to be one of those girls that became more attracted to things I couldn’t have.

  But that was not really what this was. Against all odds—and every bit of relationship advice handed down by mothers and girlfriends through the centuries—he honestly seemed to be changing. He’d moved from taking advantage of the chemistry between us to wooing me with words, with trust, with respect.

  That wasn’t something I’d expected, but that made it all the more meaningful . . . and frightening. As a girl with good sense, how was I supposed to react to a boy who’d done the unthinkable and actually grown up?

  It was a hard question. While the thought of our being together was kind of thrilling . . . I still wasn’t ready. Would I be ready eventually?

  Honestly, I didn’t know. But as Ethan had once told me, he had eternity to prove me wrong.

  He found on-street parking outside Grey House.

  It was weird to approach the building for the second time in the guise of a dinner guest who’d never seen the inside. I decided to play surprised and impressed—but however I tried to spin it, it was still a lie to Ethan.

  With a Master at my side, I walked back into Grey House. Charlie, Darius’s assistant, stood just in front of the lush greenery in the atrium. He wore navy slacks and a khaki blazer, a pale blue shirt beneath. His feet were tucked into loafers, no socks. It was an odd ensemble for August in Chicago, but the formality suited him.

  Charlie didn’t leave his task to the imagination. “Darius would like to speak with you.”

  Ethan and I exchanged a glance. “Where?” he asked.

  Charlie smiled grandly. “Scott has offered up his office. This way,” he said, extending an arm.

  We followed him through the atrium to one of the doors beneath the walkway—one of the rooms Jonah had said was nonessential. He opened the door and waited while we walked inside.

  The room was gigantic, nearly as large as a football field. It looked like an old warehouse—with well-worn plank floors and painted brick walls, a post-and-beam ceiling overhead. There were desks sprinkled throughout the space. I guessed Scott and his staff shared an office.

  But if so, they weren’t in sight now. Darius sat beside Scott on a low, modern couch. Both of them wore suits. Jonah stood behind him and gave me a small nod of acknowledgment . . . and then what looked from the corner of my eye like a more lingering glance. I was probably imagining it, but when I involuntarily met his gaze, he looked swiftly away like he’d been caught midstare.

  Like I’d said, complications.

  Morgan stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the shirt and trousers I’d seen him in—and not in—earlier. He glanced up when we walked in, but wouldn’t make eye contact.

  My stomach sank, and I knew exactly what was coming. I risked making telepathic contact with Ethan.

  Be ready, I told him . I think Morgan told Darius about Paulie Cermak.

  Charlie walked out again and closed the door behind him. Darius started in as soon as the door was closed.

  “Mr. Greer has advised me that you’ve been investigating Celina.”

  This time, it was my mental connection with Morgan that I activated—it wasn’t a connection we were supposed to have, since he hadn’t made me a vampire, but it was handy when he needed a bit of surreptitious berating.

  I trusted you, I told him. I trusted you with information, and you decided to take it to Darius?

  He didn’t respond, just shook his head. It was the move of a coward—or a child. And it didn’t exactly help diminish my own anger.

  Ethan might have been surprised the last time Darius had gone on the offensive, b
ut this time he was prepared for the onslaught. “As you know, Sire, we are required by Canon to follow the laws and dictates of the city in which we are Housed. Mayor Tate required us to investigate the nature of the new raves. We have done so.”

  “You have implicated a member of the Presidium.”

  “We have followed the information where it led.”

  “And it led to Celina?”

  Ever so slowly, Ethan turned his frosty gaze on Morgan. “I believe Mr. Greer was the vampire who confirmed Celina’s relationship with a man believed to be distributing V across the city.”

  Morgan looked back at Ethan, teeth bared, magic suddenly spilling into the room as his anger obviously blossomed.

  Ethan’s reaction was nearly instantaneous. His eyes silvered, his own fangs descended, and his own magic—cooler and crisper than Morgan’s —spilled out, as well. Ethan took a step forward, menace in his eyes, and me at his back.

  I’d seen Ethan pissed before—even at Morgan—but never like this.

  “You will remember your place,” Ethan said, calling on the fact that he’d been Master longer than Morgan had been alive. Hell, I’d been a vampire longer than Morgan had been Master, and that wasn’t saying much.

  But this time, Morgan wasn’t swayed. He took a step forward and stabbed a finger in his chest.

  “My place? Mine is the oldest American House, Sullivan. And don’t you forget it. And I’m not the one embarrassing all the Houses by stirring up drama that doesn’t need to be stirred.”

  “Are you insane?” Ethan asked. “Do you understand what’s going on out there right now?

  The trouble—the risks—the Houses are facing because of what your former Master did? Or because of what she’s doing right now?”

  “Enough!” Darius said, jumping to his feet.

  “Enough of this. You are Masters of your Houses, and you’re acting like children. This conversation is an embarrassment to all American Houses and the GP—without whose generosity they would not exist.”

  That was putting it a bit strongly, I thought.