Dark Debt

  Ethan straightened, clearly dubious. “We’ll see about that. Rest assured, Will and Zane. Regardless the punishments meted out by King, Reed, the CPD, and the people of this city, the AAM will have things to say about this trespass, this violence, this violation against all of us.” Chest heaving with fury, Ethan stepped back, pushed a hand through his hair as he struggled to control his anger.

  Jacobs took up the thread. “Why Sanford King?”

  Neither answered.

  “We’ll find out. Whether you tell us tonight, or we find out from others.” Ethan settled his gaze on Will. “You know Merit, and you know the Ombudsman. You know how skilled they are at resolving supernatural dramatics.”

  “We did the right thing,” Zane said.

  Ethan arched a responsive eyebrow. “How, precisely, was trespassing and attempting to kill a human who, I suspect, you’ve never met until tonight the ‘right thing’?”

  Will kept his lips pressed tightly together, but Zane clearly didn’t mind talking. “Sanford King is a criminal.”

  “As are you,” I pointed out. “And I seriously doubt Sanford King, whatever his transgressions, ever crashed a party at sword point and called someone out.”

  Neither one of them had an answer to that.

  Ethan let the silence hang heavy in the air for a moment before looking at Jacobs. “Do with them what you will.”

  “Call Morgan,” Will said as the uniforms pulled him to his feet, began to read them their rights.

  “Morgan has been called,” my grandfather assured him. “And we’ll be having a very long talk.”

  Chapter Eight

  SOMETHING IS ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF ILLINOIS

  Reed sent his guests home, and Jacobs and two uniformed officers accompanied the vampires to the station. My father, grandfather, Ethan, and I stayed in Reed’s office, waiting for him to return.

  My father stood across the room beside the globe, occasionally spinning it to watch its rotation. I sat beside my grandfather on a tufted leather couch of stiff burgundy leather, the type that had probably looked much more comfortable in the catalogue. Ethan stood beside me on his phone, updating the House.

  Tensions, obviously, were high.

  “It can’t be a coincidence the attack was here,” Ethan said to my grandfather, putting away his phone and breaking the silence. “I’m sure there would have been easier places to get to King, take him out.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Chuck said. “We’ll see what Reed has to say, supplement with our own background.”

  “You’ll find nothing,” my father said, putting a hand on the globe to stop its motion. “Reed holds himself to the highest ethical standards. That’s why he refused King’s business offer earlier this evening.”

  My grandfather didn’t miss the implication. “He and King had words before the attack?”

  My father rolled his eyes. “King made overtures, and Reed rejected them. He’s a thug, and everyone knows he threatened the jury that acquitted him.”

  My grandfather just looked at him. “Our job is to consider all angles, tie off all loose ends, before reaching a firm conclusion. That’s the nature of an investigation.”

  “You’ve talked to Morgan?” I asked, and my grandfather nodded.

  “Catcher called him. I understand he was less surprised than he should have been.”

  You could practically hear Ethan’s hackles rise. He wasn’t a fan of Morgan or his leadership style, such as it was. Frankly, he was probably looking forward to berating him for his Novitiates’ raging stupidity.

  The door opened and Reed walked back in, Sorcha behind him. Without a word, she walked to Reed’s desk, picked up a lighter and a cigarette case, disappeared onto the terrace again.

  Reed walked to a bar of cut crystal decanters, poured a finger of Scotch, downed it. “They’ve been arrested?” he asked, without turning around.

  “They’re in custody,” my grandfather explained. “They’ll be booked and questioned, and the responding officers will consult with the prosecutor regarding the charges against them.”

  He took a small, spiral notebook from his shirt pocket, pulled an old-fashioned red and white ballpoint pen from the spiral, clicked the nib into place.

  “Are you aware of anyone who would want to harm your reputation?” my grandfather asked, pen poised over paper.

  Reed walked past us to his desk, took a seat in the leather chair behind it, rocked with an audible creak. “I’m a very wealthy man, Mr. Merit. Wealth attracts attention, and men who shape their own worlds are not infrequently the targets of crime.”

  “Any specific, credible threats against you lately?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. If there’d been something credible, my staff would have told me.”

  My grandfather nodded. “What about Sanford King? Can you describe your relationship with him?”

  “Perfunctory,” Reed said, turning the chair to face the room and steepling his fingers over his chest. “We’re acquainted, and that’s nearly overstating it. He’s a member of the charity’s board of directors. His invitation was pro forma.”

  “So no business dealings?”

  “None.”

  “I understand he presented you with a business opportunity earlier tonight.”

  Reed’s expression flattened. “I don’t hold with gossip. And I declined the offer. As I said, no business dealings.”

  “Thank you for clarifying,” my grandfather summed, making a note in his book. “Sanford King likely has enemies.”

  “As I indicated, we all have enemies.”

  “And would there have been any reason for the perpetrators to believe you and Sanford had a closer relationship?”

  “What are you asking?”

  “I’m asking if you’re aware of any particular reason they decided to attack him here and at this particular time.”

  “I assume they wanted to punish King as publicly as possible,” Reed said impatiently. “Otherwise what’s the point of attempting an execution at a gala? Why not just take him out on the street?”

  “Was there anything unusual about his agreement to attend the party, or his interest in it?”

  “I didn’t organize the party or send the invitations. I have a staff. I allowed the charity the use of my house, made a substantial in-kind contribution with respect to food and alcohol.”

  My grandfather nodded. “There was considerable press coverage about the party, your involvement. You’ll get even more publicity after tonight.”

  My father stiffened, apparently shocked by the insinuation. But my grandfather wasn’t there to help my father kiss Reed’s ass. He was there to probe, investigate, untangle.

  “As I’m certain you’re well aware, I don’t need publicity. And I don’t appreciate the tenor of the question.”

  My grandfather smiled his blandly polite cop smile. “I just want to make sure I understand the facts.”

  “The fact is, two vampires entered my house apparently with the purpose of killing Sanford King. If you want the cause, ask them.”

  “We have done so, and will continue to investigate their involvement,” my grandfather assured him.

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ll talk to my lawyers, decide how we’d like to move forward. I’ll be in touch.”

  And just like that, Adrien Reed dismissed my grandfather.

  * * *

  We walked him back through the gallery and ballroom. The room was still decorated, but the guests were gone, adding a grim sense of abandonment.

  No one spoke until we exited the house, stood together on the sidewalk.

  “Jeff’s in the van if you’d like to say hello,” my grandfather said. “Or good-bye, since it looks like we’re wrapping up here.”

  The van, clearly marked as Ombudsman property, sat just up the block. It was
a mobile office and response center, fully equipped with computers and gadgets that only Jeff likely knew how to operate.

  Brody had squeezed the Range Rover in front of it, and he and Jeff chatted quietly until we approached. Brody nodded at Ethan, who held up a hand, signaling him to wait.

  Jeff had, as per usual, paired his floppy brown hair and smiling blue eyes with khakis and a blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up. His eyes widened as he looked me over.

  “You took some damage.”

  I grimaced at the tatters of dress. “Actually, I did a lot of it myself. It’s hard to kick in a sheath dress.”

  “I can’t take you anywhere,” Ethan said, but there was no mistaking the pride in his eyes.

  “Sure you can. But next time, get me a gown with legroom.”

  “Or maybe just no random Navarre attacks,” Jeff said grimly, glancing back at the House. “Sounds like a pretty bizarre situation.”

  “Very,” Ethan agreed. “Have you heard anything about Navarre Novitiates being out of hand?”

  “I don’t hear much about Navarre at all,” Jeff said. “What happens in Navarre House stays in Navarre House. Or so I assume.” He tucked hair behind his ear. “I’m not sure if that’s Morgan, or Celina’s leftover crazy, or what. What about you?”

  Celina Desaulniers was the former Navarre Master; she’d been forced out of the position after an attack on Ethan.

  “Out of the blue,” Ethan agreed, “even for Navarre House, which is saying something. But the severity here strikes me as something that must have festered or percolated for a while.”

  “What about supernatural vigilante groups?” I wondered.

  “Nothing like that, either,” Jeff said, sticking his hands into his pockets.

  “What about Balthasar?” my grandfather asked. “Any further activity there?”

  “He’s in a condo on Michigan Avenue,” Ethan said. “We’ve got eyes on him. It seems best for all involved to know what he’s up to.”

  “No argument there,” my grandfather said.

  “Luc has the details about his location if you’d like it, or want to do any monitoring of your own.”

  My grandfather nodded. “We won’t monitor per se, but I would like to stay apprised. Do you think he’s looking for access?”

  “If he is, he’ll be sorely disappointed by what he finds.”

  “He can’t think you owe him,” Jeff said. “Not after what happened, all the time that’s passed.”

  “A rational mind would expect not,” Ethan said. “But he has rarely ever been rational. His needs are paramount, and damn anyone who stands in his way.”

  “I fear there is a lot of that going around,” my grandfather said, and sighed heavily before trying a light smile. “I’d wax nostalgic about the good ol’ days, but with age comes wisdom and sight, and the realization that every day is as good or as bad as the next. The difference is only in the margins.”

  Ethan nodded. “Very well said. And with that, we should probably get back to the House and begin planning our next play.”

  The cards would be dealt one way or the other.

  * * *

  “This is going to be a pain in the ass,” Ethan said when we slid into the backseat of the Range Rover again.

  The car shook a bit as Brody climbed into the passenger seat. “Home, Sire?”

  “Please.”

  “And we thought this was going to be a networking event,” I said.

  Ethan laughed, a knot of mirthless sound. “The best-laid plans of vampires.” He rubbed a finger across his forehead. “We must deal with this, but Balthasar will not wait long. I suspect this will be a long night.”

  “I suspect you’re right.” I glanced out the window at the lights of homes and businesses, wondered at the drama that unfolded there.

  “Oh, Morgan,” I said on a sigh.

  Ethan slid me a glance. “Did you just say ‘oh, Morgan’?”

  “I did. In exhaustion, not desire. I’m not looking forward to dealing with him.” Morgan and I had dated briefly, and he still harbored bitterness about the end of our relationship. Not, I think, because he’d truly loved me, but because he didn’t like having been passed over for Ethan.

  “I’m afraid we will not be able to avoid it. Not this time.”

  “I know. What did you think about Reed?”

  “I didn’t interact with him much, all things considered,” Ethan said, skimming his fingers over my hand before entwining our fingers. “Likes material wealth, likes to show it off. Imagines himself very much the king of his castle.”

  “His gaudy castle.”

  “Just so. He has body men, which is relatively unusual for a businessman in Chicago. Is not used to people disobeying his orders. Certainly isn’t used to those who dare breach the castle walls, interrupt his feast.”

  “I can’t get a read on Sorcha. She’s either really smart and very socially awkward, or really, really dumb.”

  “And she must be twenty years his junior,” Ethan said, clearly not a compliment to either of them.

  I just looked at him. “What?”

  “Sorcha. She’s at least twenty years younger than Reed.”

  It literally took me a minute to respond. “Of all the things we’ve seen tonight, that’s what offends you? That he’s in a May-December romance? Need I point out you’re nearly four hundred years older than me?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “Because I don’t look a day over thirty.”

  The lack of logic was staggering. “That’s got to be some kind of penis logic.”

  “Excuse me?” Ethan asked as Brody snickered in the front seat.

  “One of your heads is significantly smarter than the other. She was pretty, though. I’ll give you that.”

  Ethan sighed. “It has nothing to do with pretty.”

  “Not according to your brain,” I agreed. “But once again—”

  Ethan held up a hand. “No need to repeat the point.”

  “When I’m four hundred, do I get to date a twenty-five-year-old?”

  Ethan narrowed his gaze. “If you date anyone other than me at any point in your hopefully long and fruitful life, there will be trouble for both of us.”

  “That’s definitely penis logic,” Brody said helpfully. I didn’t disagree with him.

  * * *

  By the time we arrived at the paparazzi’d House, it was two o’clock. We were both tired and grouchy, and hadn’t eaten in hours.

  The jacket I’d returned draped over one arm, Ethan offered a hand to help me out of the car. When I joined him on the sidewalk, I put my hands on his face, stretched on tiptoes to reach him, and pressed my lips to his. “Thank you for standing up to my father.”

  Ethan wrapped an arm around my waist as shutters began to snap around us, capturing the moment, paparazzi yelling at us to look their way, make eye contact, increase the marketability of their particular photographs.

  “Sentinel,” he said quietly, the words only for me, “I will stand for you as long as I am able.” And then he kissed me well and thoroughly. The words had been for me, but the kiss was for the audience.

  “You two are making out every time I see you.”

  Ethan pulled away, glanced back at Catcher, who’d moved to stand beside us. “That speaks more to your interruptions than our affection.”

  Catcher made a vague sound, gestured toward the gate, where my grandfather stood waiting. Jeff must have dropped him off. “Shall we?”

  I didn’t especially want to, but big girl panties were made for times like this.

  * * *

  Morgan stood in the middle of the foyer, legs braced like a captain on a ship. His dark, wavy hair was short now, paired with a few nights’ worth of dark stubble that set off his d
eeply blue eyes. He wore dark jeans over boots, a three-quarter-sleeve Henley in a pale blue he favored, arms crossed defensively over his well-toned chest. Morgan was what I’d call broodingly handsome.

  Unfortunately, he also had a disappointing tendency to brood.

  He cast a glance at Ethan, then me, then the remains of the dress and scratches on my arms. His eyes flashed, and I wondered if he was bothered I’d been injured—or pissed that I’d fought with his people.

  Luc and Lindsey waited nearby, moved forward when we walked into the foyer. I made a line for Lindsey.

  “When you have a chance, can you talk to Margot, maybe arrange for drinks, blood, some snacks? It’s been a long night.”

  Lindsey arched an eyebrow. “Babe, I know you better than you know yourself. Already put in the order.”

  I put a thankful hand on her arm, squeezed. “Thank you. I am starving.”

  “You pretty much destroyed that dress.”

  “But saved an apparently despicable human from a vampire ninja death, so that’s something.”

  “It’s something,” she said quietly, her gaze on Ethan as he stalked toward Morgan. “They were really from Navarre?”

  She wouldn’t have doubted the truth of Luc’s report, but she’d have marveled at the involvement of Navarre guards in a mess like this.

  “They were,” I confirmed.

  “Morgan,” Ethan said, glancing around at the suited Novitiates who lingered in the foyer and parlor to catch a glimpse of the trouble they expected would unfold. “Let’s go to my office.”

  “Where are they?”

  My grandfather stepped forward, voice quiet but firm. “Your people are in custody. There’s no way around that, considering what happened. Let’s go to Ethan’s office and discuss it.”

  Morgan glanced around the foyer as if gauging his move—whether to argue, storm out, or capitulate.

  To everyone’s relief, and my surprise, he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway.

  “We’ll go with him,” my grandfather said, and he and Catcher fell in step behind Morgan.