Slaying It (Chicagoland Vampires)

by Chloe Neill

  “I want to go,” I said.

  Ethan’s expression was dour.

  He attacked me, I silently said, as this discussion was just for us. And he attacked her. Maybe I’m not sure how to be a good parent. But you’ve taught me about protecting people, and facing him down, showing her how to be brave, is part of that.

  “I believe we’re all going,” Catcher said with a smug smile.

  * * *

  * * *

  Rowan Cleary lived in a four-plex, a two-story brick building with four apartments separated in the middle by a central staircase. His was on the top floor, and the building was dark when the four of us—Catcher, my grandfather, Ethan, and I—squeezed onto the second floor landing.

  The door across the hall opened, and a human in her early twenties looked out. She had tan skin and dark hair pulled into a messy bun, and wore leggings and a Cubs T-shirt.

  “Hey, Ro, I wondered when you were—”

  She stopped short when she realized we weren’t the vampire she was looking for.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, frowning as she looked us over. “I thought you were Ro. Rowan, I mean.”

  “We’re actually looking for him,” I said, rubbing a hand over my belly to assure her that I wasn’t going to cause any trouble. Not for her, anyway. “Is he home?”

  She shifted from socked foot to socked foot. “No, I haven’t seen him. I’m a nurse and I work nights, and sometimes we go for a run, but I haven’t seen him in two or three days.” Her eyes went wide. “He’s not in any trouble, is he?”

  “He isn’t,” my grandfather said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We just came by to say hello.”

  “He’s getting a lot of that lately,” she said with a smile. “A guy and a girl came by last night to see him, too. He wasn’t home then, either.”

  “A guy and a girl?” my grandfather asked, and the girl lifted a shoulder.

  “I think they were maybe cops or security? They were big, had on weapons. Guns, I mean.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say that? I don’t want to get Ro into any trouble.”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” my grandfather said. “We’ll just leave him a note and be on our way.”

  “Okay,” she said, but still looked a little unsure. And I had a sneaking suspicion my grandfather didn’t intend to leave anyone a note—and might want a little privacy.

  “Could I possibly bother you for a glass of water?” I asked. “I’m a little winded after climbing those stairs.”

  “Of course, sure. I think I have a couple of bottles. I’ll be right back.”

  “Very nice, Sentinel,” Ethan murmured behind me, as I heard Catcher and my grandfather fiddle with the lock.

  It popped as the girl appeared in the doorway with the bottle, eyes widening at the half-open door across the hall.

  “The door was actually open a little,” my grandfather said, with a concerned expression on his face that I’d certainly have believed. “We just want to make sure there’s no damage in the apartment.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, handing me the bottle and plainly not sure about what she should do. “Maybe I should call the cops?”

  “We are the cops,” Catcher said, offering up his identification. “We’re with the Ombudsman’s office.”

  She blinked. “’Cause he’s a vampire. Right, obviously.” She smiled. “Listen, if you’ve got this, I’m going to just head back inside. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

  “Of course,” Catcher said, and pulled a business card from his pocket, handed it to her. “If you need to get in touch with us, you can use this.”

  “Thanks. Later,” she said, then closed and locked the door.

  “All right,” my grandfather said. “Let’s go in.”

  * * *

  * * *

  There was no sign of Rowan Cleary. But there was plenty of evidence of him.

  His apartment wasn’t much different from his car: a little shabby and full of debris. The rooms were set up shotgun style—living room led to dining room, which led to kitchen, which led to bedroom and bath. The walls were pretty hardwood, the doorways arched, but the furniture, what little there was, was old, threadbare, and well-scarred. Horizontal surfaces were piled with boxes and papers and products.

  It looked like he’d tried several direct sales businesses, as we found separate piles of makeup, cleaning products, and exercise DVDs. The refrigerator held blood, beer, and sports drinks, the cabinets only a few old cans of fruit. The walls were bare but for a motivational poster (EVERY BUSINESS STARTS AT THE BEGINNING) and some old-fashioned beer ads featuring 1940s pinup girls.

  If Rowan Cleary was hoping to become a player, the décor, such as it was, said he hadn’t quite managed it yet.

  “If he owes money to the mob or anyone else,” Catcher asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the man’s belongings, “what the hell did he do with it?”

  “Bought his inventory,” Ethan suggested, pointing to a six-foot-high stack of boxes that held nutritional products. “Maybe he figured this is how he’d make his first million.”

  “Or lost it gambling,” I said, holding up a worn spiral notebook. “I think this might be some kind of bookkeeping?”

  Eyes alight with interest, Catcher walked to me, and I offered him the notebook.

  He scanned the pages quietly. “Gambling entries,” he said. “And it looks like he prefers the sports book. He’s been keeping track of his wins and losses, and there are a lot more of the latter than the former.” He looked up, smiled at my grandfather. “Vice would probably find this very interesting.”

  “I imagine they would.”

  “So he’s got a gambling problem and no obvious source of consistent income,” Ethan said. “He borrowed money from the mob for some new venture, or perhaps owes them directly for his gambling losses. That would make a man hungry for cash. And an unethical man wouldn’t much care how he got it.”

  “I wonder if we’ll find him before the mob does,” I said and met Ethan’s angry stare. “Given we’re likely to be gentler, I’m not really sure I have a preference.”

  9

  Margot knew they meant to find Rowan. They’d confront him and arrest him—unless Ethan and his frigid anger got to Rowan first.

  She walked outside, sat on the edge of the House’s backyard brick patio. It was a gorgeous night, warm and breezy, and it made Margot think of June in some tropical port. Except she wasn’t in a tropical port. She was in her home, where her previous relationship—and all the baggage that came with it—had just been spread across her House. The place that had been her respite from drama.

  Her ex had attacked Merit. Her friend, her House’s Sentinel, and her Master’s beloved wife. And she knew damn well he hadn’t called her to check in or apologize or because it had been their anniversary. He’d called after his mission had failed, probably because he hoped Margot could help him with some backup scheme.

  “Bastard,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “I was trying to cut you out, not get dragged back into your nonsense.”

  She knew they wouldn’t blame her, that neither Ethan nor Merit would think she had any responsibility for what he’d done. But she couldn’t help thinking back—had there been something she’d said, some opinion she’d passed along that had set him on this course? Of deciding Cadogan House was a good target for his greed?

  Typical Rowan, she thought ruefully. Just another scheme to get some quick cash. But this still was more desperate than anything he’d tried before, or at least that she knew about.

  She sighed, blew out a breath, assured herself they’d find him before he hurt anyone else. Hopefully.

  And maybe that would ease the ache in her chest.

  * * *

  * * *

  This time, Jonah didn’t bother hiding the fact that he wa
nted to check on Margot.

  Hearing about her ex-boyfriend, putting a face to the apprehension he’d seen in her eyes, made Jonah a little too eager to find Rowan Cleary first and offer up a little revenge. He could use a good fight, a little hand-to-hand to work out his frustrations.

  Margot had left Ethan’s office, and he declined joining the rest of them on the trip to Cleary’s house. They didn’t need him for that, and he had other concerns.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen, so Jonah grabbed two bottles of blood and walked outside to the patio behind the House.

  He saw the form at the edge of the steps, and it took only a moment—and the scent of her sweet perfume on the air—to confirm it was Margot. His heart galloped beneath his chest, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to be around her without feeling that rush of emotion.

  “Hey,” he said, and sat down on the same step, but gave her several feet of distance. He offered a bottle of blood. “Thought you could use this.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She took it but didn’t drink. Just rolled the bottle in her hands.

  “That must have been quite a shock.”

  “It wasn’t my favorite moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Margot. Really.”

  She just nodded. And he realized she still hadn’t looked at him.

  “You’re working through your issues with him—with that relationship.”

  This time, her head came up, and she met his gaze. “Yeah.”

  Jonah nodded, had to fight back the urge to wrap his arms around her and comfort away the misery and shame in her eyes.

  He wouldn’t touch her. Not unless and until she was ready. But maybe words would help. Maybe he could do that for her, little though it would be.

  “You aren’t responsible for his bad acts,” he said quietly.

  “I know. But he’s targeted Cadogan House. And I’m the one who first brought him here.”

  “Years ago,” Jonah said. “And he only needed to watch the news to learn about their relationship. But either way, it hardly matters.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning, he’s an adult, an immortal. He’s responsible for his own actions.” Jonah paused. “A man, a vampire, should have a code of honor. Even if you’d given him a minute by minute schedule of her evening routine—which you obviously didn’t—using that information to hurt her, to hurt Ethan, was his decision alone.”

  She looked into the dark. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about dating an asshole.”

  “I care about you, Margot. And so does everyone who was in that room. None of us, Merit included, want you to suffer because once upon a time you dated a jerk. He doesn’t deserve shame or guilt. And neither do you.”

  He didn’t think he’d gotten through to her. But knew no one could, or would, until she felt right about it.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’d like to be alone, okay?”

  Jonah looked at her for a long moment, still torn between walking away and pushing her to work through it the way he sensed she needed to. But he wasn’t Rowan Cleary; Jonah could respect her boundaries as much as he wanted to push against them.

  He rose and walked toward the door. And it was a hard-fought battle for a man trained to protect and fight.

  Jonah paused at the threshold. “You deserve more than him. So much more.” And then he walked inside.

  * * *

  * * *

  She wanted to call him back. She wanted so much for him to turn around and gather her up, to embrace her and chase back the demons—or the demon—at her heels.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to stand up, to say his name. Not when anger and regret had sunk their claws in and held her in place.

  She couldn’t say what she deserved—or what anyone else did. She just knew the darkness hadn’t yet lifted. The concern she’d make another bad decision, accept things she shouldn’t be willing to accept.

  Someday, she’d be ready.

  And until then?

  She put down the bottle, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared into the darkness.

  Until then, she’d just have to manage.

  10

  Since they hadn’t found Rowan at his house, they were using his phone number, offered by Margot, to track his location.

  But as the sun prepared to rise, the Ombuddies told Margot that Rowan had called from an untraceable burner phone, so they hadn’t been able to find him.

  That meant the drama would continue.

  The sun made its arc across the sky, and when it fell again, Margot looked for peace where she often did—in the kitchen. Baking was chemistry, and the careful processes of measuring, combining, heating, decorating were how she found flow, that sense of being completely absorbed in a task so there was no room for worry.

  She was sliding a pan of macarons onto a cooling rack when the phone rang. She’d been in the zone—eyes and ears and nose attuned to the feel and scent and sight of the cookies—and she’d answered it automatically.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, pretty girl.”

  She nearly dropped the pan and sent macarons tumbling across the floor. She managed to get it on the rack but still ended up skimming her thumb against the edge of the pan.

  “Damn it,” she said, and stuck her thumb under the tap as the knife-sharp pain throbbed beneath her skin.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. What do you want, Rowan?”

  “I know I’m not your favorite person right now. But I’m back in Chicago—just drove in, actually—and I’d really like the chance to see you.”

  He was setting up his alibi, she thought. For his previous attack, and for whatever he planned to do next. The asshole was using her in case it all went wrong again.

  Anger began to heat her skin, and she realized it was a lot more comfortable than anxiety or shame.

  She also, for the first time, understood Jonah was right. This wasn’t about her or what she’d said or what she’d done. There were dozens of vampires in the House with significant others who talked about Cadogan and its vampires, and precisely none of them had tried to kidnap Merit.

  Rowan was just an asshole. And that wasn’t her fault or her responsibility.

  On the other hand . . .

  They hadn’t yet managed to find Rowan, and she had him, right now, on the phone. Maybe she could help put him away. And in doing so, close this particular chapter of her life.

  “I just . . . I don’t know, Rowan.” She tried to imagine how she’d have responded if she didn’t know Rowan was the one who’d attacked her friend. Adrenaline made her voice flutter now, not fear or anger. But it sounded, she thought, pretty convincing. “The House is . . . pretty frazzled right now.”

  “Frazzled?” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice, probably figured she’d think it was just concern.

  “Someone attacked Merit the other night. So we’re all a little freaked out.”

  “Oh, man. That’s rough. They know who did it?”

  Anger built on anger, one hot block at a time.

  “I don’t think so. The street was dark, and I guess he was covered up or something.”

  “Crazy,” he said. “Crazy. So, maybe I could just come by with a coffee.”

  She didn’t know whether to be furious he was using her to get into the House or thrilled that he was putting himself in her hands.

  “I don’t know, Rowan. We haven’t talked in a long time, and everyone is pretty tense.” She put just enough hesitation in her voice to make him think a little more pushing would send her over the edge and get the answer he wanted.

  “How about we’ll just talk in the foyer—that front living room or whatever? I’ll bring you a coffee, and we’ll talk. Nothing serious, nothing intense. Just a chanc
e to catch up.”

  She made herself count to ten, as if she was seriously debating how to answer. “All right,” she said. “But I’m working the breakfast rush. Can you give me a couple of hours?”

  “Of course, Margie.” She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Two hours.”

  She hung up the phone, slipped it back into her pocket, and smiled like a cat who’d gotten the mouse. And that haze of regret began to melt away.

  * * *

  * * *

  Margot pulled off the apron, turned off the oven, and walked to Ethan’s office.

  He and Merit were in the seating area with Malik and Jonah talking, she assumed, about the deal with the mayor.

  Jonah looked up first, and there was heat in his eyes before he banked it. And he banked it, she realized, for her. Because unlike Rowan, Jonah understood self-control.

  “He’s coming here,” she said, shifting her gaze to Ethan.

  Ethan’s brow furrowed as he turned to face her. “Who?”

  She swallowed. “Rowan. He called and said he just got into town and he wanted to talk, and maybe we could just chat. He invited himself over here for coffee. So I let him. He’ll be here in two hours.”

  Ethan rose and strode toward her. When he reached her, he put his hands on her cheeks. “You are absolutely brilliant.”

  Margot grinned. “I did good?”

  “You did exceptional.”

  “Yay! My heart was racing,” she said, and pressed a hand against her chest. She looked at Merit. “And I didn’t mind. It’s no wonder you like to do this.”

  “Adrenaline is a powerful thing,” Merit said, smiling as she joined them.

  Ethan checked his watch. “So we have two hours, but I want a plan ready and underway in half that.” He looked back at Margot. “Do you think you can play along a little longer? Maybe meet him outside, ensure we can get near him?”