Biting Cold (17 page)

“She’s staying at Little Red in Ukrainian Village.”

“The bar?”

I nodded. “There’s a bedroom above the kitchen, and she’s working for Gabriel.”

He sat back and crossed his arms. “Doing what?”

“Dishes, at the moment.”

Ethan nodded thoughtfully. “Ah. Menial work, to remind her she’s merely flesh and bone.”

“That seems to be the theory. Berna was there, and I’m assuming
she’s playing den mother, although Gabriel didn’t give me a lot of details.”

“Did Paige or Catcher have anything to say about it?”

I shook my head. “They were going to visit Baumgartner, so they didn’t stay long. It also seems Catcher and Mallory are now on a break.”

Ethan grimaced. “Not entirely surprising given the circumstances, but still a difficult situation.”

“She wasn’t thrilled. I don’t think she was surprised, but she wasn’t thrilled.”

“How’s her attitude generally?”

“The guilt and remorse are kicking in, which is a good step. I assume she’ll go through stages like any addict.” I paused. “Can you feel her?”

He nodded and looked away. “She’s on the other side of town, so the volume is lower, but the itch is still there. The vague sensation someone is hitchhiking in my brain.”

That was a perfect segue to broach the topic of our relationship. But before I could do so, Malik walked in. His skin was the color of rich caramel, and he wore an ensemble that mirrored Ethan’s. But there was worry in his pale green eyes.

“Liege,” I said deferentially.

“She’s more obsequious to you than she ever has been to me,” Ethan observed with a tilted eyebrow.

“Better leadership skills,” Malik said with a smile, but it faded fast enough. “You got Mallory settled?”

“I did. She’s with the shifters.”

Malik nodded. “It’s a good thing she’s in hand. I just got a call from your grandfather. He’s been listening to the police scanners.”

A handy way to get information when the mayor’s office closed your office and cut off your funding.

“What’s happened?” Ethan asked.

“You remember Paulie, Seth Tate’s former protégé? He’s dead.”

Paulie Cermak, a cigar stub of a man with an accent bigger than he was, had run Seth Tate’s drug operation. They distributed V, a drug that enhanced the sensation of being a vampire and made users über-aggressive.

“Is that so surprising?” Ethan asked. “Mr. Cermak ran with a tough crowd.”

Malik pulled out his cell phone and thumbed across the screen, then showed it to me. The image was in black and white, but its subject was clear enough: Paulie on his back on the ground, lying in a puddle of blood. It looked like his throat had been cut.

I grimaced. “I’m not saying I liked the guy, but I wouldn’t wish that on him.”

“No,” Malik agreed. “It’s not a pretty way to go.”

“Time of death?” Ethan asked.

“About eight hours ago.”

“Plenty of time for the Tates to make it back from Nebraska and do it.”

“But why would they?” Ethan asked. “Paulie was old news. Why would he, or it, or they, or
whatever
, have any interest in taking him out?”

“Revenge?” Malik offered.

“But he worked for Tate,” I said. “And Tate handed Paulie over to the cops. There’s no revenge to be had.”

Of course, there was also no theoretical revenge to be had against Paige, but that didn’t stop the Tates from burning down her house.

Helen popped her tidy gray head into the doorway. “He’s here.”

Ethan stood up and nodded. “We have to assume this is the first of many pleasantries the Tates intend to visit on Chicago.” He looked at me. “Talk to Luc and Kelley. Figure out what we don’t know and what their agendas might be.”

His words and tone were wholly professional; there wasn’t even a hint in his manner that we had any connection to each other beyond our relationship as Sentinel and Master. Granted, we were discussing serious business and he had a meeting with Darius in the offing, but that didn’t stop the gnawing in my stomach.

I nodded and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind me, then stood there for a moment, my head against the wall. Our relationship moved like an awkward and ill-timed dance—forever one step forward, two steps back. But for now, Paulie had to be my first and only concern. So I put Ethan out of my mind and headed for the stairs again.

Each of Chicago’s three vampire Houses had a team of guards whose job was to keep the House—and its vampires—safe. As Sentinel, I wasn’t technically a guard, but since our guards were shorthanded, I was helping out. Each set of guards had a captain and an HQ.

Our HQ was tucked into the basement of Cadogan House, appropriately near the training room and arsenal, and was outfitted with top-of-the-line electronic whoosits and goodies. Touch-screen panels, wall-mounted screens. Only the best technology for the keepers of Cadogan’s safety.

Unfortunately, all the ’lectrics in the world wouldn’t rid Luc, the former guard captain, or Kelley, the current guard captain, of their love of paper. They still stuffed our file folders with handouts every day—reports on House activities called the “Dailies,” and any other bits of ephemera they thought we needed to know.

And Luc wasn’t even our captain anymore. He was House Second and would presumably stay in that position until Ethan held the reins of the House again. Assuming Ethan would…

I walked into the Ops Room and found Luc and Kelley staring up at the image of poor deceased Paulie. Juliet sat at one of the computer monitors, her gaze on the closed-circuit cameras around the House and grounds. Lindsey must have been out on patrol.

“Pretty sight, isn’t it?” I asked, taking a seat across from them at the conference table.

Luc made a snort and crossed his hands over his button-up chambray shirt. “So, you made it back from Nebraska in one piece.”

There was a bowl of chocolates on the middle of the table. I leaned over and grabbed a piece. I’d earned it.

“I did,” I agreed. “You would have liked it. There were farms and cows galore.”

Luc still had the look of a cowboy just off the range, but at least he was dressed again. My retinas were still burning from my earlier interruption.

“My ranch days are over,” Luc said.

“I thought your guard days were over, too.”

Kelley snickered. “His excuse is that there are more than enough suits upstairs.”

Luc grabbed his own piece of chocolate after carefully rummaging through the bowl for some select piece. “Ethan and Malik are both quite capable of serving as second of this House. They have plenty of years under their belts.”

It was hard to imagine Ethan as anything other than head of the House, which made the current arrangement awkward at best.

“What was Ethan like as Peter Cadogan’s second?” I wondered.

“Particular,” Kelley said. “An avid learner, but usually convinced he was right. He respected Peter, but he chafed at the bit. He was eager for his own command.”

“That was before my time,” Luc said, “but it matches what I’ve heard.” He sat up straight and pulled his chair closer to the table. “And now that we’ve reminisced, why don’t we get down to business?”

“I presume Ethan filled you in about Tate?” I asked.

“He did. We have one more Tate and one fewer Tate accomplice.” Luc tapped the screen and zeroed in on Paulie’s injuries.

“Paulie was forty-two years old,” he said. “He was killed while he was being transported from lockup to a med facility.”

“How are the guards?” I wondered.

“Also dead, as were two med techs, although we haven’t seen pictures yet. Information doesn’t flow in like it did when your grandfather was official.”

I nodded. “So it looks like a hit on Paulie by someone with a grudge.”

“That could be Tate,” Kelley said. “There could be facts we don’t know.”

“There could be,” I said. “But let’s play devil’s advocate. What if this has nothing to do with Tate? Maybe somebody had a grudge against Paulie wholly unconnected to the mayor’s office. That’s not hard to imagine, since Paulie was running drugs.”

“True,” Luc said. “But I’m a fan of Occam’s razor—the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Two Tates explode onto the scene, and one of their comrades goes rather dead. It’s not hard to imagine those two things are related.”

“So for now, we work from the assumption that Tate killed Paulie,” Kelley said. “And brutally. Why?”

“Cleaning up loose ends?” Luc suggested.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Ethan and I talked about this earlier. Tate had nothing to lose from Paulie being alive. He’s the one who screwed Paulie, not the other way around.”

“So what’s his motive?” Luc asked. “Tate’s all double-your-pleasure now, and the two of them are out there roaming the world.” Luc pretended to hold a microphone. “Seth Tate, you’ve been touched by evil and split into two people! Where are you going next?”

He mimed extending the microphone to Kelley, who leaned solemnly over it. “To Disney World, Ron. I’m going to Disney World.”

I looked up at the screen, the emptiness in Paulie’s gaze, and the wound at his throat. “Cutting ties,” I quietly said. “Maybe it’s not about revenge. Maybe it’s symbolic—Tate was cutting ties to his past. But why? And why cut him?”

“What are you thinking, Sentinel?”

I squinted at the screen. The wound was slick and clean, not unlike what happened when flesh met a sword. “The Tates literally flew out of the missile silo, and at least one of them has the power to control a vehicle. If Tate wanted Paulie dead, why not just wipe him out with magic? Why use a weapon? Why use a blade?”

Luc and Kelley tilted their heads at the screen. “Huh,” Luc said. “Good catch, Sentinel.”

“He had a sword in Nebraska,” I explained. “I don’t know if he created it or found it, but he was pretty good with it.”

“If Tate was the perp,” Kelley suggested, “maybe he wanted a tangible act. He didn’t just snap his fingers and blow Paulie away. He wanted to participate in it, and he did so. Slowly—with purpose.”

“So he’s a man with a purpose,” I said. “Or two men with a
purpose, who aren’t afraid of murder. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Especially since we don’t know what the mission is,” Luc said.

“It looks to be an angry mission,” I said. “A brutal, angry mission.”

“True that, Sentinel.” Luc’s phone beeped, so he pulled it out and checked the screen.

“Well, that is interesting,” he said, then tapped his phone a little more. “I signed up for the Hyde Park neighborhood watch. They get crime alerts from the CPD.”

“Sneaky,” I complimented. “Not a bad way to stay in the loop.”

“No, it is not,” Luc said, then tapped the panel for the overhead screen. “Especially when it gets us a picture of our perp from the clinic’s security camera.”

Kelley and I both leaned forward, then watched as an image of a man who looked just like the former mayor of Chicago filled the screen.

“Looks like we can confirm Tate has an agenda,” Luc said.

I sighed. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Problem is, which Tate? And which agenda?”

We stared at Tate’s picture in color and in black and white. We blew it up, then shrank it again, trying to discern any identifying feature that might tell us which Tate had done the deed. But there were no scars. No moles. No hair whorls or visible birthmarks. By all accounts, there was nothing distinguishable about this particular Tate.

So no dice.

That was problematic in two ways. First, it got us no closer to figuring out what the Tates were and where they were going. If we were to have any hope of closing these guys down, we needed to
know what they were so we could plan our attack accordingly. Otherwise, we were severely outmatched against two magical something or others with no obvious weaknesses.

Wheaties couldn’t even get me out of that jam.

Second, and more important, if one Tate was murdering former accomplices, where was the other Tate? Had they split up? Were they off satisfying their own agendas and wreaking twice as much havoc at once?

Sure, investigating murder wasn’t exactly our job. But we had a history with Paulie and with Tate, which brought this under our relative jurisdiction. Besides, Diane Kowalcyzk had already let Tate off the hook once, and she certainly didn’t seem to be doing supernaturals any favors.

We needed information. And I had a pretty good idea where we could get it. Well, three ideas, actually. If Tate could double up, I’d go one better; I’d triple up.

My first call was to my favorite shifter. Turns out, murder was also on his mind.

“You’ve seen the pic?” Jeff asked.

“I have seen the pic. I’m in the Ops Room, and you’re on speakerphone. What do you know?”

“Not a lot,” he said. “Four dead, one former mayor as suspect. Well, half a double former mayor, anyway. You got anything else?”

“Nope. We’ve been talking about the brutality, but that’s about it.”

“Yeah, Paulie definitely met a bad end. Or maybe a deserved end, depending on who you ask.”

“Let’s consider the deserved-end angle. Do you know anything about Paulie that would suggest Tate thought he had it coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I’m not privy to the entire file. It’s in the CPD servers, and I’d have to, you know, sneak around in there to take a look.”

He paused silently for a moment, as if waiting for me to object to the possibility that he’d hack the servers to get information on a case. But if it weren’t for Mayor Kowalcyzk, Tate wouldn’t have escaped, so I didn’t really feel that bad.

“Do what you need to do,” I said at Luc’s nod, absolving Jeff of any vampire-related trouble.

“Will do,” he said. “I’ll do some looking and get back in touch. In the meantime, be careful. Maybe I’m wrong, but it looks like Tate’s clearing the slate. I’d advise anyone who’s been in contact with him to keep an eye out.”

Unfortunately, he was probably right. That made Gabriel (my second-favorite shifter, although I’d never confess it to him) my next phone call.

“Can you spare a moment?” I asked him, skipping the niceties.

“If it’s a quick one. What’s news, Kitten?”

“A former colleague of Tate’s is dead. Murdered earlier today, as were four people who were around him at the time. It was a pretty gruesome scene, and we think Tate might have been involved.”