Dark Debt (26 page)

“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 forehead. 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.”

“We’ll clean it up,” one of them said, and I moved aside, climbed to my feet as they began to work.

I looked across the street, found Maguire’s car wrapped around a
light pole. Either contact with us had sent the car on a collision course, or he’d been too busy watching us to see the obstacle.

Techs had already pulled him from the car, were attaching a cervical collar and stabilizing him for transport.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I glanced back at the sound of Ethan’s voice. He was sitting up, if slowly, and waving the techs away.
They’d managed to get
gauze and padding on his forehead, which was apparently the most he was willing to let them do.

The Ombudsman’s van squealed to a stop at the curb, and my grandfather climbed out of the passenger seat, searched for us. I held up a hand, waited until he made eye contact, saw the relief in his eyes.

Maguire was loaded into an ambulance, and the techs jumped into the vehicle, closed the doors.
The sirens came on and the bus zoomed down the street.

I’d have sworn I saw my father in the streetlight where the ambulance had been, staring at the scene in front of him. But when I blinked, looked again, he was gone.

*   *   *

Two bottles of blood later, we’d told the story to my grandfather three times. It didn’t change in any of its repetitions, but he wanted to ensure that he’d
gotten all the facts straight.

By the time we returned to the House—once again in the back of a CPD cruiser, since the Ferrari was toast—dawn was flicking rosy fingers at us.

I was so exhausted that I didn’t even argue when Ethan lifted me into his arms, carried me into the House. It had been a really, really long night, and the raven bracelet I still wore probably wasn’t helping.

Luc met us at the front door. “Sire?”

I heard the words, but I was already drifting to sleep, and they sounded so far away.

“She’s fine,” he said. “Just tired. The House?”

“Fine.” Luc closed and locked the door. “And I hear Maguire’s out of surgery, stable. We’ll plan to debrief about all of it at sunset.”

Ethan nodded, kept walking toward the stairs. When we
reached the apartments,
he unlocked the door, carried me into the room, kicked it closed once again.

“You can put me down,” I said groggily.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He waited until he reached the bed, stood me carefully beside it. “Get undressed. I’ll get some pajamas.”

“Pervert,” I said, but pulled off everything except the raven bracelet I still wore. I hit the bed naked and fell asleep immediately.

THE PRESTIGE

W
e woke at dusk, both of us naked, to a knock on the door.

“That’s never a good sign.”

Ethan grunted, pulled on a robe, walked toward the sound. I heard mumbling, and then footsteps approaching again.

“Your father is in the foyer,” Ethan said, when he rounded the
corner again. “Helen reports that he seems upset. He wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll bet he does. Tell him I’ve moved to Botswana.”

“Why Botswana?” was his only inquiry.

“First place that came to mind. Which is weird, because I bet I’ve never said ‘Botswana’ before.” But I was procrastinating, so I pushed off the covers and climbed out of bed. “I’ll get dressed.”

Ethan nodded. “As
will I, and we’ll tackle this particular obstacle together.”

That was fine by me.

*   *   *

We didn’t dawdle, but we didn’t hurry, either. I wasn’t in any rush to listen to my father explain to me—especially after last night—how wrong I was about Reed. On the other hand, I was more than willing to give him a lecture of his own.

We walked downstairs wearing black clothing and grim
expressions.

“Front parlor,” Lindsey said quietly when we reached the foyer.

We walked inside at the same time, two vampires in the threshold, a united front against all enemies. My father stood in the middle of the room in an immaculate suit, hands in his pockets. He glanced back, moved quickly toward the door when he saw me.

“Merit.”

“Joshua,” Ethan said, moving just enough to
put his body between ours.

My father kept his gaze on me. “I need to talk to Merit.”

Once upon a time, I might have shied away from conflict with my father. I’d have avoided it by running to New York or California for college or my first round of graduate school, or I’d have simply locked myself in my room. I was no longer that girl.

I also had a champion.

My father took a step
closer to me, but Ethan held out a hand.

“Stop,” he said, quietly, but firmly. “She needs no more berating from you. If you cannot speak to her civilly, respectfully, I won’t allow you to speak to her at all.”

My father’s jaw twitched. Most of the men and women in his acquaintance kowtowed to him; it wasn’t often he was challenged.

He looked at me, as if to confirm that I agreed,
and found my position no softer.

“He’s right,” I said. “You’ve had your say, and there’s no need
to repeat it. It’s pretty clear what you think of me. Of all of us.” The irony being that he’d been the impetus for my being there, for being a vampire at all.

“I didn’t know he was a criminal. Reed,” he clarified. “I didn’t know what he was involved in.”

The words, spoken with a flavor
I’d never heard from my father—uncertainty—hung in the air for a moment.

“Let’s go to my office,” Ethan said. “Joshua, I believe you know the way?”

My father nodded and walked past Ethan into the hallway.

When he disappeared, Ethan glanced at me, held out a hand. “Come, Sentinel. Let’s go hear what your father has to say.”

*   *   *

Malik and Morgan already waited in Ethan’s
office. They rose to leave when we walked in, but Ethan motioned them down again, closed the door behind us. The three of us joined them in the sitting area.

“This pertains to Reed,” Ethan had said. “So it pertains to all of us. You should stay.”

My father looked at me. “I didn’t know Reed was a criminal,” he said again, then swallowed heavily. “I was on my way to Reed’s home. We’d been
on the phone, and he said you’d just barged in. I told him I’d call your grandfather, and I did.”

Reed must have called him as soon as we hit the front door. That explained why Jacobs had shown up with the officers and how’d they’d gotten there so quickly.

“That’s when you left the message for me?” I asked.

He nodded. “I didn’t know everything then.”

Ethan frowned. “And what
do you know now?”

“I saw the police escort you out. And when the police were gone, he went into the house.”

“He?” Ethan asked.

“The redhead.” My father paused. “Maguire. I’d seen him on the news. Knew my father was looking for him. Knew he’d accosted Merit.”

“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “You saw Jude Maguire walk into Adrien Reed’s house?”

“Only for a moment. He walked
inside, couldn’t have been in there for more than a couple of seconds. Then he walked out again, slammed the door, got into his car. The white sedan.” He shook his head. “I thought Maguire was the perpetrator, the one who’d hired the vampires. I thought my father was wrong about Adrien. He’s a business partner, a friend. He wouldn’t hurt my family. He wouldn’t hurt my daughter.”

“You followed
Maguire,” Ethan prompted.

My father nodded. “When I realized he was shadowing you, I called your grandfather, told them where you were, where to find you. And then I saw the Ferrari flip, and my heart stopped.” Eyes on me, his gaze darkened. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m all right,” I said quietly. My father and I didn’t get along, and weren’t especially close, but that didn’t mean I
couldn’t sympathize with his fear for his child. My sister, the first Caroline, had died in a car accident that left my parents nearly unscathed. I’d been, or I’d always felt that I’d been, her replacement. It must have wrecked him to have witnessed the crash, to fear history would repeat itself and he’d lose another daughter—and his connection to that beautiful child he’d lost.

“You saw us,”
Ethan said, “but you didn’t help?” There was a note of disapproval in his voice.

“By the time I got to the vehicles, Merit’s grandfather had arrived, and the ambulances.” My father looked down, clearly embarrassed, a rare condition for him.

“You were in good hands,” he continued after a moment, when his eyes had hardened again like chalcedony. “And I had other business. I went back to
Reed’s house.”

I didn’t scare easily. Not anymore. But that scared me. “You went back? After what had happened? Why?”

“I told him I’d seen Maguire, that I knew who he was, that I’d seen what he tried to do to you and Ethan. Reed was cagey, but said you’d gone to his house to harass him, had probably led Maguire to his doorstep, and that security hadn’t let Maguire in.”

Convenient,
and likely scripted by Reed just in case someone was watching,
Ethan observed silently.
He is very, very clever.

“This is our fault.”

We all looked at Morgan, saw the guilt etched in his face.

“If it wasn’t for her, for Navarre, you wouldn’t be in this position. None of you. Not if Celina had been satisfied with what she’d had. Not if she’d had any self-control.” He ran a hand through
his hair. “Maybe I can sell the building. It must be worth something. Maybe that would take care of part of the debt. I could sell the art, the furnishings.”

“You don’t have to do that,” my father said. “It’s unnecessary.”

Ethan went very still. “What do you mean, Joshua?”

“I gave him Towerline.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand what my father had said, the implication of it.
“What do you mean?”

“I gave Adrien Reed my interest in Towerline. In the investment, in the building.”

I was staggered. Baffled. Utterly bewildered by the act, the apparent sacrifice. I stood in silence for several long seconds—just trying to catch up with my raging emotions—before looking at my father again. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. You paid off Adrien Reed?”

“He didn’t
call it that.” His tone was dry. “Said it was a good-faith proffer against our future business.”

“I can’t say I’d recommend any future business with Adrien Reed,” Ethan said.

“I can’t say I disagree with you. The suggestion was his, but carefully couched, of course.” Talking about business seemed to return my father’s color, his poise. “But he said it settled the debt of the Navarre vampires,
and he’d draw up the paperwork accordingly.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said. “My God, those two words are staggeringly insufficient, but they’re all I can think to say. Thank you.”

My father nodded.

“How much of a hit will Merit Properties take?” Ethan asked.

“Towerline was a . . . substantial investment. It’s a hit. We can recover, but not this year.”

I was still flummoxed, still
trying to come to terms with the sacrifice my father had made, the fact that he’d simply handed over his pet project in order to keep me,
us
, safe. And that wasn’t all.

“I can’t believe Reed gave up so easily,” I said. “Not because the project isn’t worth a lot”—it was skyscrapers in Chicago, after all—“but because he’d be giving up Navarre House. Reed seems like the type who’d want to draw
out the punishment as long as possible. Or, in this case, the extortion and loan-sharking.”

“He is tenacious,” my father said, and looked at Ethan. “He said something about the game not being done. He may be done with Navarre. But I suspect he isn’t done with vampires. And I would be very, very careful where Adrien Reed is concerned.”

Ethan looked at me.
The Investiture.

His connection
with Balthasar,
I agreed.
He isn’t giving up Navarre House out of some sudden sense of magnanimity. He’s finishing the first
round of his game—Navarre—in order to focus on the second. Which would be Cadogan House.

But one thing bothered me, and I looked back at my father. “The party at Reed’s house. He was surprised to see us—didn’t expect to see us there. He didn’t invite us?”

“He’d said
a day or two before he wanted to meet you, although he hadn’t mentioned the party specifically.” His expression dimmed with obvious irritation. “He took care to remind me of that.”

Ethan nodded. “He knew the Navarre vampires would attempt to take out King. He wanted a front row seat, but he hadn’t wanted us there to interfere. Which is precisely what we did.”

My father nodded, and I belatedly
realized how tired he looked. His cheeks were drawn, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. “Do you want us to call Grandpa? He can pick you up. Take you home.”

“No. You should tell him what you know now, and that Navarre’s debt has been settled. But leave me and Towerline out of it.”

My eyes widened. “Leave you—you’re a witness. You saw Maguire go into the house. We can’t leave you
out of it.”

“But I didn’t,” my father said. “Not really. Just as Reed said, I saw him refused entry at Reed’s house. And I want no one to know about Towerline. Our business will recover, but publicity about the reason for the transfer won’t help that. I promised him I wouldn’t. That was part of our transaction.”

“And you trust him to keep his word?” Ethan asked.

“He is a keen and brilliant
businessman. Looking back, I cannot say how much of that is hard work, skill, luck, grift. But we have a truce, and I won’t be the one to break it.” My father rose. “My car’s outside. I want to go home and see my wife.”

I nodded, rose as well. “I should say thank you, but I feel like
that wouldn’t be enough. You did a very generous thing. It’s not the kind of thing I’ll ever be able to repay.”

My father looked down at me from his few extra inches of height. “I am a decision maker. For my company, for my family. I make decisions using the best available information, the best data. That data does not include liability. It does not factor popularity. My family, my company, are not democracies. When everything falls down, I fix it, because that is my job. That is my responsibility. That
is my weight to carry.”

He looked at Ethan, stared at him for a good, long while. “You’ll protect her?”

The question, the moment, hung in the air like smoke. It was a changing of the guard, not because I needed protecting from either of them (I didn’t), but because the obligation to protect me was passing from one to the other.

“I have since the beginning,” Ethan said, his words holding
a keen edge, a reminder that he’d saved my life when my father had inadvertently set my death in motion.

“Then I suppose we’re done for tonight.” With that curt phrase, my father walked to the door, disappeared into the hallway.

I sat down again, stared at the empty doorway, the room silent around me.

“I’m not certain what to say,” Ethan said when the front door’s opening and closing
echoed down the hallway, “although I believe chocolate would be appropriate?”

I shook my head. “I need a drink. A stiff drink.”

Ethan walked to the bar, poured something into a glass that was probably older and more expensive than I’d appreciate, and brought it to me without comment.

I downed it, squeezed my eyes shut against the burn. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely.

“Mmm-hmm,” he
said, and took the glass back, placed it on the coffee table. “Gasoline?”

“Pretty much.” But the warmth was comforting.

Ethan smiled, glanced at Morgan. “You can probably begin moving your vampires back to Navarre.”

Morgan rose, nodded. “I’m going to make some phone calls.”

“Consider having your lawyers adjust whatever documents are necessary to get the House back in control of
its affairs,” Ethan said, and Morgan nodded again.