by Mary Hughes
Logan’s pleasant manner dropped abruptly. “Even if I hadn’t already unseated your four Horsemen of the Ass-pocalypse, you think that would matter?” He stalked, loose-limbed, until he was nose to nose with Ruthven. “Every agonizing exercise Elias threw at me, I thought of you. During every murderous drill, every unbeatable test, I’d grit my teeth and work through it, thinking of you, of the day we’d meet again. Of facing you. Of killing you.”
Ruthven backed until his spine pressed flat against the door. “I can still take you, Steel. But I’d rather have my lieutenants get the practice.” He raised his voice. “Maim. Shiv, Skiver, Scythe. Attack.” Ruthven waved an imperious arm at Logan.
Nothing happened.
“Maim, I call you. I command you.”
Long seconds ticked before the door from the office opened. “Yeah, about that.”
The hulk that entered wasn’t Maim but blond Viking Bo Strongwell. He smiled, his lurking dimples coming out to play for just a second. “Maim and company are kind of tied up at present. Hey Liese, thanks for sorting those cable ties. Really made it easy to match color to villain. Sorting heads wasn’t so easy, but I think we got them matched to their bodies okay. Shiv’s the bony one, right?” Bo strode in until he stood a step behind Logan. “Got your text message. Elena and I came as soon as we could.”
“How’d you get in?” I asked. “Doesn’t the electricity affect you?”
He held up one big hand. “Fingerprint recognition. Really sweet.”
“You tied up the trash?” Logan’s gaze stayed riveted on Ruthven.
“Yeah, bound ’em hand and foot. Since they’re not old enough to mist, that’ll hold them until Emerson’s lieutenants come collect them. Now for Ruthven.”
Ruthven’s calculating eyes darted between Bo and Logan. “Strongwell. I can make it worth your while if you offer me safe passage. I have a great deal of money…and blood.”
“Excuse me.” I crossed my arms and tapped one foot. “This is my Center—I won it, remember? I get to decide what happens to you.”
Logan’s flinty gaze switched from Ruthven for the first time, leveled at me, hitting me like a punch to the gut. “Strongwell’s territory. Strongwell decides.”
“My territory—” I began.
“My vampire,” Elena called from the office. She’d propped the door open with one foot and was listening in. Through the crack I could see her gun trained steadily at the unseen gang. “Bo knows the politics, Liese, human and vampire. Let him make the call.”
“Yeah but—”
“My city,” Bo said in a tone that said he was done discussing and anyone who thought otherwise would lose teeth. Since I had medical insurance but no dental, I shut up. “Here’s what’s going to happen. At dawn Ruthven gets into my shielded limo with me and we head to Chicago. Elena and my first lieutenant Thorvald will follow in the Maybach. Between the sun and Thor, Ruthven will be trapped.”
“Chicago?” Ruthven sneered. “How long do you think to hold me in my own stronghold?”
Bo simply smiled. “It’s Nosferatu’s stronghold, remember? He’s not going to be too pleased with what you’ve done here.”
Ruthven’s sneer collapsed. “And Steel?” Real fear entered his voice for the first time.
Logan shrugged. “Oh, I’ll abide by whatever deal Bo and Nosferatu work out. I’ll play by the rules.” He put one finger on Ruthven’s chest and pinned him with a disemboweling glare. “As long as you do.”
Ruthven shuddered.
Julian’s lieutenants came and mopped up the Lestat vampires. Just after dawn a limo purred to the curb, an elegant sedan sliding smoothly behind. As Bo and Logan hustled Ruthven into the limo, the human Carrothead Jr. jumped out, maybe to try to spring Ruthven loose.
Elena whipped out her service revolver and warned him off. Red backed up, reluctantly. The limo took off. Elena shoved into the driver’s seat of the sedan and followed the limo. Carroty Jr. waved a select finger at them, then took off in the opposite direction. I started after.
“Let him go.”
Logan stood in the Blood Center doorway, face very flushed. Remembering what sun did to vampires, my priorities shifted abruptly. I put both hands on his chest and shoved, not moving him an inch, of course. “Get inside.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He backed up with a slight smile on his face. “Going to punish me ma’am?”
“You wish,” I muttered. A sudden vision of me in a black leather bustier and him writhing under me made me break into a hot sweat. I decided now would be a really good time to make a belated check on the server rack. Logan followed me into the office.
Sure enough, a small flat piece of plastic was slotted into the back panel. I pulled it out, held it up. “I bet this is why the alarm didn’t go off.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “A USB key? Ah. Containing a virus to infiltrate the perimeter defense code.”
“Or a root kit. But Ruthven would have to know your software to create it.”
“You hacked our code,” he pointed out.
“I had it in my hands and unraveled it—the key being I had access to it first.”
“Unfortunately someone does have access, an Eastern European Steel Software wannabe. We found out New Year’s Eve. That’s actually why you were hired, Liese. Bo and Elena patrol at night but we needed someone onsite during the day, to discourage human minions. Apparently Ruthven is working with them.”
“So this hacked in?” I joggled the thumb drive at him.
“And injected code to stop the external alarm. But the programmer couldn’t have known about my first and best line of defense.” Logan beamed at me with pure pride. “An even better hacker.”
I blushed. But it was a happy blush.
And since Logan was trapped here until the sun went down… I was starting to consider the possibilities of walls, file cabinets and desks when the theme from CSI sang out, complete with vocal.
“Wow, that really is a home stereo system,” I said as Logan pulled out his cell.
He frowned at the small phone. “Unknown number… That’s impossible.”
“Caller ID isn’t perfect. I get unknown numbers all the time.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Steel Security is tapped into the world’s phone service suppliers. We have even hidden registration information.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“If people knew vampires were real, I suspect our existence would be illegal. This may be a touch illicit, but it’s only done out of self-preservation.” He flipped the phone open. “Steel. I see. No. Yes. All right. Where and when? Yes. I’ll be there.” He clipped the phone shut and slid it away.
“What was that all about?”
Logan’s face was grim. “Apparently Ruthven had already started laying plans for revenge after last night’s card game.”
“That was one of your Iowa Alliance guys?”
“No. An anonymous informant. He says he has more to tell me if I meet him in Chicago tonight.
“You’re not going, are you?”
“Normally I wouldn’t. But this man, he says Ruthven’s not just after me. He’s after my—” Logan’s jaw clenched, “—household.”
“Well then,” I said. “I’ll just have to go along.”
Chapter Seventeen
That evening we drove up Lake Shore Drive, headed for the vast concrete warren of Chicago’s underground parking. I sprawled in the luxurious seat of Logan’s Porsche, enjoying his masterly handling of the powerful vehicle. Logan had tried to keep me from coming but I’d just pointed out I could drive myself and follow, and he’d been forced to acknowledge I’d probably be safer with him. “We’re going to hear the Chicago Symphony because that’s where the guy who called wants to meet?”
“Yes. He has information on Ruthven’s plans. Since Ruthven laid those plans before Bo dragged him off to Nosferatu’s judgment, they may no longer have any teeth. But I don’t want to take chances.”
The them
e from Jaws erupted from the dash. Not a CD. Logan had stuck his cell phone to some sort of ultramodern polymer pad.
He raised an eyebrow at me, not asking permission but being polite. I nodded. He hit connect, followed by speaker. “Steel.”
“Hello, darling,” a throaty alto purred. “Congratulations on defeating Ruthven.”
“Camille.” Another of Nosferatu’s seconds, like Ruthven. “What do you want?” The tips of Logan’s fangs peeked from between his lips.
“Just to thank you, darling. You got rid of a very thorny obstacle for me. But really, darling, couldn’t you have made it just a bit more permanent?”
“I’m in no mood for games, Camille. Goodbye.” Logan reached for the end call button.
“Oh, pooh. You never were any fun. But maybe this will interest you—because of that dreary hick Strongwell, Ruthven’s been banished to Springfield. They’re driving him down tonight for the Hundred Years. Superbly boring, but the end results are more pie for me and Giuseppe.”
“You know I’m not going to take your word for this, Camille.”
“Confirm away, darling. But Nosferatu chucked him in one of your charming little electrified cages and carted him away just an hour ago. I wish Nosferatu had exposed the bastard, but official exile will have to do.”
Logan’s jaw clenched. “Springfield is the state capital. Ruthven could get up to his old political tricks.”
“Unfortunately. That’s why I wish you’d destroyed him. But stamped Outcast is almost as good. Well, just wanted to call to gloat. I mean, to thank you. Ta-ta.”
Logan punched end, jaw working.
I said, “She’s a real sweetheart.”
He flashed me an amused, grateful look, his fangs receding. “Isn’t she?”
“What’s that Hundred Years thing? Ruthven gets buried in a cage for a century?”
“The cage is just for transport. But Hundred Years’ Exile is pretty harsh. There’s a nasty stripping ceremony that culminates in the outcast being buried in foreign soil. He has to stay within ten leagues of his grave for a century and a day. Vampire society is big on tradition and rite. I think it’s because we live so long.”
“But if Ruthven’ll be free tomorrow night, couldn’t he just come back?”
“Only a fool would buck official exile.” Logan punched a speed dial.
“Steel.” Bo’s voice came after one ring.
“Viking,” Logan said. “Just heard from the Spider Woman. She says Ruthven’s been cast out. Is that true?”
Bo confirmed the details then added, “Nosferatu invited me to tag along for the ceremonies when they chuck Ruthven’s ass in the ground. Elena and I have to get back to Meiers Corners, but I’m sending Thorvald. He’ll call me when the deed’s done. You want notification too?”
“If you don’t mind. It’d be one thing off my mind.”
“Will do.”
As Logan disconnected I said, “So do you know who tonight’s informant is? Or why he wants to meet during the symphony concert?” My head turned as we passed the famous Buckingham Fountain. Even though the water wasn’t on, it was still beautiful.
“I didn’t recognize the voice. Apparently he wants to stay anonymous. Given Ruthven’s preference for nasty, back-stabbing revenge, I can’t say I blame him.”
“Couldn’t he have given you the information over the phone? Being an international security guru, you’ve got a secure phone line, right?”
Logan shrugged. “Apparently he wasn’t as confident about his end. Thus the need for this somewhat dramatic meeting. But he has a point. With all the Lestats and minions in the city, it’s hard to meet unobserved.”
“And he couldn’t have come out to Meiers Corners?”
“No time.” Logan navigated the heavy traffic, his hands capable and sure on the wheel, small golden hairs glinting in the evening lights. I liked looking at the strong fingers, the clean lines of hand and wrist. “Besides, I think you’ll enjoy hearing the symphony. They’re doing Beethoven and Vaughan Williams.”
“I know Beethoven,” I said. “But I haven’t heard of the other guy.”
“I knew them both.” Logan pulled into the driveway for Grant Park South, the self-park lot under the grassy park of the same name. “I actually sang for Beethoven in the debut of the Ninth Symphony in 1824. Nearly lost my voice trying to talk to him, though. He was deaf by then.”
I stared at him. “When I said I knew Beethoven, I didn’t mean it quite that way.”
Logan grinned at me as he took a ticket. “You’ll enjoy the concert. Chicago’s always good. You’re fortunate to have world-class talent so close.”
I watched him beat out two other cars for a really sweet spot without the least apparent effort. As he spun his little coupe into the space I asked, “Who’s conducting?”
To my surprise, Logan grimaced. “Zajicek.” He got out of the car and locked up.
We started walking. “Zajicek—you mean Dragan Zajicek? The Dragan Zajicek?”
The grimace became a scowl. “Naturally. You’ve never heard of Vaughan Williams, but you’ve heard of Zajicek.”
“Well, sure. Who hasn’t? The man is so finger-licking good, he single-handedly put classical music into the top ten charts. Don’t you like him? Or is it his music?”
“It’s not that. He’s one of us.”
I fit my jaw back on its hinges. “I should have known. He’s been around since the eighties. No normal man can be that delicious that long.”
Logan prepaid the parking before we exited the structure. “That’s part of the problem. He refuses to lie low. His exhibitionism endangers all of us. We’ve argued with him for years. Came close to blows.” He snorted. “Even Elias can’t make him change.”
“That’s headstrong.” I remembered Elias’s deep, sure voice and shivered, not the least because it reminded me of the explanation I owed Logan. “I can’t imagine Mr. Elias ever losing an argument.”
“Strictly speaking, he hasn’t had it yet. Elias prefers to let people live their own lives. But he’s sent a few of us to try to make Zajicek see reason. I assure you, if Elias ever decides Zajicek’s an immediate deadly threat, Zajicek’s dead.”
“That’d be too bad. The man—er, v-guy—is a major musical talent.”
Logan hooked my elbow as we crossed South Michigan. “Maybe. But he’s as unpredictable in his own way as Ruthven. And that makes him a danger.”
“So where’s the meeting with Mr. Anonymous?”
Logan opened the door to Symphony Center, ushered me through. “Subbasement, at intermission.”
Our tickets were in the third row, center. I took off my coat, settled in. “Nice seats.”
“Courtesy of our anonymous friend,” Logan said. “They were sold out.”
“Nixie doesn’t like sitting so close.” I watched the musicians wander out and warm up. “She says the sound is better in the middle. But I like being able to see.”
“All the seats are good, acoustically. But from here, we can see if Zajicek sweats.” Logan grinned.
“Ooh, muscles glistening with man-sweat. Well, not exactly man-sweat but…oh, never mind.”
“You’re still cute when you’re flustered.” Logan’s grin widened.
“And I can still slap you.”
He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Promises, promises.”
Logan’s breath on my neck was hot enough to singe away thoughts of Zajicek. When the lights lowered, I nudged him. “They’re starting. Behave yourself.”
“Always, princess.” As Logan’s breath teased my neck, his fingers slipped up under my top and teased something else.
I suppressed a yelp. “Behave well.”
Smirking, he removed his fingers.
The concertmaster came out and cued the tuning. Only string players sat onstage. I checked my program, saw the first piece was Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. I’d never heard it.
Still reading the program, I was barely aware of the pregnant silence
that followed the tuning until the click of heels brought my head up.
Sweeping onto the stage was a strikingly tall man, effortlessly elegant in black tails. Long ebony hair was shot with one dramatic river of silver. Jet brows slashed over brilliant dark eyes. Strong, high cheekbones were complemented by a razor-sharp jaw.
My eyes swung to him and stuck. Seriously. The guy was that magnetic. In his pictures, Zajicek was classically handsome. In person, handsome intensified into stunning. There was instant, wild applause.
Zajicek vaulted onto the podium with athletic grace, spun and bowed to the audience. If Logan hadn’t been beside me I would have melted into goo. As it was I felt like royalty had acknowledged me.
Spinning back to the orchestra, Zajicek held up one hand. A slim white stick balanced lightly in three long fingers, relaxed yet full of coiled energy. It seemed that the whole orchestra’s consciousness was in that white tip, because when the stick clicked down, they played.
The first chords were both rich and divine, an organ filling a great cathedral. Beautiful, restrained music stirred my ears. But even in those first few moments, I could feel something coming—something overflowing with pure emotion.
Like the music, Zajicek’s movements on the podium were spare, his gestures exquisitely elegant. And like the music, you knew that beneath that elegance was a simmering volcano.
As the music progressed, it came. In waves of sound, tickling, nudging, pushing. Logan’s fingers threaded through mine. Increasingly lush music crescendoed, rose higher, the current deeper and stronger. Logan’s fingers tightened.
The music swelled bigger and bigger until it washed over me. Ocean waves of sound pushed me off my feet, unleashed me from my moorings. Threatened the very foundations of my soul. I grabbed Logan’s hand harder.
The notes soared higher. The throbbing rhythm quickened. My breath quickened with it. Faster. Higher. More. The whirlwind of sound carried me along, up, up into air so rarified I could barely catch my breath.
The violins hit the peak. Held me there in a bliss of perfection. It went on and on, so beautiful that I shattered.
If the soul can climax, that was my first time.
