Dark Debt

  Ethan tilted his head. “Are you a king? Is this your castle?” He paused. “Is the Circle your kingdom?”

  Reed went very quiet and very still. “I understand you fancy yourself a leader of vampires and think highly of your connections and your power. But I’m not sure you have as much of either as you believe, Mr. Sullivan. That could be dangerous for a man in your position.”

  As if Reed had paid him the highest compliment—or been baited right according to plan—Ethan grinned wildly, took a step forward.

  “And I’m not sure you understand real danger, Adrien. Celina made a bad business deal? That’s not my business. But you threaten vampires? You attempt to hurt my people? That makes it personal. And when it’s personal, it will be your house and mine. It will be you and me, and there will be no one to stand in front of you. No one else to fight your battles. That is the dangerous situation.”

  But Reed knew how to play the game, just as Ethan did. His gaze shifted to me, and the chill in it lifted the hair on the back of my neck. There was nothing soft, nothing compassionate, barely anything human, about Adrien Reed.

  “The personal matters to you, does it?” he asked, the implication obvious. If Ethan wished to battle Reed, Reed would simply target me.

  Ethan’s magic seeped forward, a cold and sinking fog. “You’d be wise to keep your eyes on me and your men away from my people.”

  “My ‘men’? Unless you’re interested in mergers and acquisitions, which I highly doubt, I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ve had several unpleasant run-ins with Jude Maguire. He’s one of yours.”

  Reed frowned, pursed his lips, feigned confusion. “I’m not sure I know anyone named Maguire.”

  “You might remember him as Thomas O’Malley,” I suggested pleasantly.

  His smile widened. “Oh, I haven’t heard from Tom in years. I hope he’s doing well.”

  This time, I let my smile bloom vampiric. “Actually, he’s nursing some fairly serious injuries at the moment. Accident with a throwing star.”

  Ethan glanced at me, grimaced. “Oh, that sounds unfortunate.”

  I nodded. “It was. And bloody. I’d like to get some of those stars.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Reed’s lip curled at the comment and the byplay, but only for an instant. However dangerous he might have been, he was very well schooled at masking his emotions, playing the businessman. It was an attribute a vampire could appreciate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “In that case,” Ethan said, “how about Balthasar? Are you aware your companies are paying his way?”

  “Don’t confuse me and my companies, Ethan. I don’t oversee every decision made in my expansive, shall we say, kingdom.”

  “You may have money,” Ethan said, “and you may have friends in very high places. But you forget one thing: You are human, and we are not. We are strong, and we are immortal.”

  Reed snapped out a laugh. There was no mirth in it, only insult. “You are two-bit celebrities with short memories and whose popularity shifts like the tide.”

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway, drawing nearer.

  This time, the smile was all Reed’s and a bit maniacal. “Ah,” he said, lifting his cell phone, wiggling it a bit. “It looks like help has arrived. And lest you think I’ve called them because I fear you—let me clarify things for you.” He put the phone on his desk and leaned forward. “I’ve called them to remind you that you don’t hold the upper hand. You never have, and you never will. This city is beholden to me, and its debt has come due.”

  I’d thought Balthasar narcissistic, psychopathic. But the crazed desire in Balthasar’s eyes had nothing on the utter malevolence in Reed’s.

  With that statement freezing the air, Detective Jacobs walked in, two uniformed cops behind him. Reed pasted on a relieved smile with shocking speed. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

  “Of course, Mr. Reed,” Jacobs said, glancing at us. “I understand your visitors are unwelcome.”

  “What they are,” Reed said, “is harassing me. And I understand the CPD takes vampire harassment very seriously these days.”

  “Of course they do.” Jacobs looked at us with disappointment in his eyes. “And my apologies for the delay. A transformer burst, so traffic and streetlights are out. It’s very dark out, and they’ve had to reroute traffic.”

  Adrien made some vague sound, didn’t seem to care much about the CPD’s logistical concerns. But we understood it. That was our code phrase, the signal we’d worked out before visiting the Circle on Torrance Island. Jacobs wanted us to play along.

  Jacobs took Ethan by the arm, and Ethan made a good show of shaking him off. “Get your damn hand off me!”

  “You know I can’t do that, Mr. Sullivan. Not when you’ve come into someone’s home, threatened them.”

  Ethan’s expression was perfectly superior. “I did no such thing. The housekeeper let us in!”

  “Mmm-hmm. Your lawyers can discuss that with you at the station.” He smiled back at Mr. Reed. “Once again, sir, I’m very sorry for the interruption. Chuck Merit doesn’t appreciate his reputation being tarnished, and I’m sure he’ll have some choice words for his granddaughter.”

  “I hope he does,” Reed said, not bothering to hide the gleam in his eyes as an officer led me to the door with a heavy grip on my arm. “They should learn to respect those who’ve earned their success.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Jacobs said. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Reed’s desk. “I hate to inconvenience you further considering the hour. Perhaps I could call you tomorrow for your statement?”

  “That would be acceptable,” Reed said, clearly pleased by Jacobs’s apparent deference.

  Jacobs nodded. “In that case, we’ll clear out and leave you to your evening. Do take care to lock up afterward. You never know who you’ll find on the doorstep.”

  * * *

  This might be the worst date I’ve ever been on, I mused as the officers escorted us silently down the gallery and out of the house.

  Oh, I doubt that, Ethan said behind me.

  That’s not flattering, Sullivan.

  It wasn’t meant to insult you, but the boys you dated. Had any of them the guile to win you, they’d have done so. But seeing as you’re here with me . . .

  Just stop there, I advised him, before you dig that hole any deeper.

  “Put them in my car,” Detective Jacobs said to the uniforms. “I’ll take them back to the station.”

  The cops looked at each other. “You don’t, uh, want us to go with you?” asked the one who held me, free hand on his club as if there was a possibility I’d take a swing at a cop.

  “Unnecessary,” Jacobs said with a smile. “I’ve handled these two before.” He patted his coat as if he held a secret weapon there. “And I know just how to do it. I’ll even take care of the paperwork.”

  “That’d actually be great,” said my cop, looking very relieved. “I’ve got a pile on my desk. I mean”—he glanced at his partner—“it’s not exactly protocol . . .”

  “But, then,” Jacobs said, “neither is coming to the home of a millionaire to arrest vampires he’s apparently invited through the door.”

  “He does have a point,” said Ethan’s cop. Ethan watched the discussion with amusement, apparently nonplussed about the fact that his arrest was the topic of conversation.

  “If you could just get them into my car,” Jacobs prompted, and they nodded, opened the back door of a sedate gray sedan, gestured us inside. I squeezed in after Ethan, and they closed the door with a heavy thud.

  “Twenty-eight years without so much as a speeding ticket,” I said, glancing at him, “and you get me arrested for trespassing.”

  Ethan snorted. Jonah usually accompanied me du
ring investigations, so Ethan didn’t often get the chance to do the fieldwork. He seemed to be enjoying it—both the highs and lows. Maybe he saw it as a break from administration and paperwork. Or maybe he just appreciated being my partner in the other sense of the word.

  Jacobs gave parting instructions to the cops, climbed into the front seat. He watched as the uniforms drove away, then glanced at us in the rearview mirror. “You have anything to say for yourselves?”

  Ethan smiled. “Can we throw ourselves on the mercy of the CPD?”

  Jacobs humphed. “Now that we’re alone, would you like to tell me why you’re here in the middle of the night worrying Chuck Merit?”

  I winced, but Ethan didn’t mince words. “There’s evidence Reed’s involved in the Circle. And considering his money, finances, connections, I’m guessing he’s at the helm.”

  Jacobs, being a cop to the bone, didn’t so much as flinch. “What led you to that conclusion?”

  My grandfather must not have filled him in on what the Ombuddies had found.

  “Jeff and Catcher dug into Jude Maguire’s past,” Ethan said. “He’s actually Thomas O’Malley. O’Malley went off the radar several years ago, and Maguire took his place. Reed and Maguire went to college together. They’re friends; close ones. O’Malley was in Reed’s first wedding.”

  Jacobs considered quietly. “That doesn’t link Reed to the Circle.”

  “Not definitively,” Ethan agreed. “But he as much as admitted it in his office.”

  “Admitted it, or as much as?” Jacobs asked.

  Ethan nodded, taking his point. Reed hadn’t expressly said anything about being in the Circle.

  Jacobs turned on the car. “We’ll look into it,” he said. “In the meantime, I recommend you stay away from Mr. Reed. Whether he’s part of the Circle or isn’t, he’s a very powerful man, as I’m sure he informed you. Your transportation?”

  “Black Ferrari, one block north.”

  Jacobs nodded. He eased the car onto the street, and after doing a figure eight around the block in case Reed was watching, pulled up in front of the Ferrari.

  He glanced at Ethan in the rearview. “Perhaps, next time you decide to play junior detective, you’ll let one of us in on the investigation.”

  I elbowed Ethan in the ribs.

  Jacobs put the car in park, got out, and opened our doors, making a grand gesture as we climbed back to freedom.

  “Don’t worry your grandfather,” he said to me. “I’ll talk to him. And do try to have a nice evening.”

  * * *

  We climbed into the Ferrari, and I, for one, was relieved to be leaving the neighborhood. At least until I pulled out my phone, found the waiting message from my father.

  Reed had apparently gotten to him, too, and he was pissed.

  “I cannot believe you. Your disrespect for yourself, for your family, for your grandfather, for me. To barge into a man’s home, to accuse him of wrongdoing, of all people. A trusted friend and business partner. To be escorted out by the police. What if there’d been reporters? Or a tourist with a camera? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family, to the Towerline project? We’re going to talk about this. We’re going to talk about this tonight.”

  I guessed Reed hadn’t just called the CPD.

  “Trouble, Sentinel?”

  “Reed tattled. That was a very unhappy message from my father.”

  I watched Ethan’s gaze dart from windshield to rearview mirror to side mirror, then back again. Magic began to lift, slowly but steadily, raising goose bumps on my arms.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ethan’s gaze tracked the sequence again. “Someone is following us. White sedan, dark windows, three cars back.”

  I glanced at the side mirror, and when the car immediately behind us turned onto a side street, I caught a sliver of white.

  “One of Reed’s men?”

  “Unless your father’s hired a hit man. Send Luc a message. Tell him Reed may be pissed, and to lock down the House. Same message to Scott and Morgan.”

  I typed the messages as Ethan turned a sharp corner, tried to lose the car behind us. The movement wasn’t good for accuracy.

  “I might have just told Helen to lock down the House.”

  “Close enough,” Ethan said, his gaze darting between the windshield and rearview mirror. We were flying down a residential street. The Ferrari had no problem with that, but Chicago traffic was hairy on the best of nights.

  The street opened, became two lanes in each direction. The white car used the opportunity to go around the remaining car and slipped back in behind us. It was an Audi, and I caught a glimpse of red hair when he drove beneath a streetlight.

  “It’s Maguire,” I said. “And he’s moving faster.”

  Ethan nodded. “He knows he’s been spotted and doesn’t want to lose us.”

  “He doesn’t have to worry about that. He knows where we live.”

  “That’s only true if he wants us to arrive safely. I don’t believe that’s the case, Sentinel.”

  There was a flash, a bang, as gunshots ricocheted around the car. There was a thwack behind me as a bullet made contact with a back panel.

  Ethan jerked the Ferrari to the left, the right, avoiding another spray of bullets. Maguire had upgraded his arsenal.

  “Either Reed was particularly distressed by our meeting, or Maguire is acting out. Either should know better than to waste a Ferrari on vengeance.”

  Ethan wrenched the car to the left across blaring traffic and onto a side street. The white car followed, leaving the crash of metal and tinkle of glass in its wake as cars hit one another to avoid smashing into it. He zoomed down a narrow street, dodging around parked cars like a skier on a slalom course.

  The Audi maneuvered behind us, mirroring every swerve. Maguire was an asshole, but a capable driver. Ethan turned right, tires squealing with the motion, had room to speed up. But the Audi was right behind us, and inched closer.

  “Hold on,” Ethan said, and we jerked forward as the Audi slammed us from behind.

  “He is fucking insane!” I said, gripping the armrest to keep my seat.

  “I fear you’re right.” Ethan sped up, but the Audi kept pace, knocked us again.

  “All right,” Ethan said, “I am done with this asshole. Hold on.” He grabbed the parking brake, yanking it up as he wrenched the wheel so we spun around to the left, drifted down the street as the tires screamed in protest.

  Ethan hit the gas and we darted down the street in the opposite direction. But Maguire knew the same trick, or close enough, and spun the car around to follow us.

  No—not just to follow us, but to reach us. As we zoomed down the empty residential street, blowing past houses and cars and sleeping humans, the Audi darted forward so we were even.

  Maguire flipped us off through the window, then slammed his car into ours.

  “Shit,” Ethan said, and held the wheel, tried to keep us stable, but wind caught the car like a sail, and suddenly we were airborne. For a moment, time slowed, and Ethan gripped my hand, squeezed it with bone-crushing strength.

  Take care, Sentinel, he said silently.

  We rotated, flipped, soaring through the air like a luxury projectile. The world spun, dark sky now our floor, the pavement our sky . . . and then we landed with a jolt I felt in every bone, muscle, and tendon. We bounced once, then again, before skidding to a stop.

  Sound and pain and smell returned with a roar like an ocean wave cresting over our heads. I tasted blood, felt a stabbing pain in my side.

  I’d knocked my head against the seat back, and I blinked until the world stopped spinning. When the carousel slowed, I glanced over, the movement wrenching something in my neck.

  Ethan sat beside me, utterly still, eyes closed, head bleeding from a visibly nasty gash in his fore
head. Smoke began to fill the car from the crumpled hood.

  I cursed, unhooked my seat belt, kicked the car door until it opened, and climbed out. I staggered on my feet and grabbed the side of the car because the world had started to spin again.

  “Do not pass out,” I ordered myself, my knuckles white as I fought to stay upright while darkness circled around my vision. I clung to consciousness, taking one step at a time, my ribs screaming, both hands on the car for balance, moving around it to Ethan’s side of the car.

  His door was dented, but I wrenched it open.

  “Ethan!” I slapped him, got no response, tried our psychic connection. Ethan.

  The silence was deafening. I put a hand to his throat, felt a low and steady pulse. The car was filling with smoke; I was going to have to move him.

  I unbuckled the seat belt, leaned him forward, reached around his chest, pulled him out of the car. It wasn’t easy hauling one hundred and eighty pounds of undead weight with what I’d diagnosed as a broken rib and probably a concussion, but I managed it, and got him to the curb when sirens began to scream in the distance. I laid him on the sidewalk, tore a strip from my T-shirt, pressed it to the unpleasant-looking wound in his forehead.

  I didn’t stop to consider the possibility he might have been killed, that both of us might have been killed. That, I knew, would have set off an entirely new wave of panic, and I didn’t have time for that.

  When Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, my hiccupping breaths sounded suspiciously like sobs.

  “Ferrari?” was all he said.

  I laughed between sobs. “Totaled. You’re going to need another new car. And Luc is never going to let you drive again.” Hell, Ethan would be lucky if Luc ever let him out of the House again.

  “You drive,” he said, and closed his eyes again, a smile flitting around his mouth. “Headache.”

  “You took a good knock. Amazingly, your head is not actually filled with rocks.”

  Ambulances, fire trucks, CPD vehicles streamed down the street. EMTs climbed out of the ambulance with gear in hand, rushed toward us.

  “I’m fine,” I said to them, ignoring the pain in my side. “He’s a vampire, so he’ll heal, but he’s got a pretty bad cut.”