Hard Bitten (29 page)

“Come in.”

I stepped inside . . . and nearly lost my breath.

Morgan was half-naked, clad only in black trousers, pulling a short-sleeved white undershirt over his head, the muscles in his stomach clenching and bunching with the effort. When he was clothed, he pulled his dark, shoulder-length hair back and tied it at his nape.

It wasn’t until then that he glanced over at me.

“Yes?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, having completely forgotten the speech I was prepared to make. Honest to God, my mind was completely blank, all rational thought having fled at the sight of his body. God knew, physical attraction was never the problem. Nothing about Morgan was the problem. I was the problem.

Ethan
was the problem.

I had to shake my head to clear it. His expression went smug; I assumed he was happy he’d been able to fluster me.

“Not expecting company?” I finally managed.

Morgan sat down on the edge of a chair, pulled on socks, then lifted fancy square-toed shoes from the floor and slid his foot into one. “I just finished a workout, and we’ve got the dinner in an hour. What do you need?”

Realizing I was still standing in the doorway, door askew, I stepped into the room and closed it behind me.

“I wanted to update you on the investigation.”

Halfway through the second shoe, his hands stilled, and he looked up at me. That’s when I noticed the blue shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. It couldn’t have been easy for him to fill Celina’s shoes, especially given the unrest.

I didn’t envy a Second forced into the role of a Master . . . and I’d helped put him there.

“Then by all means, update me.”

I managed not to roll my eyes, and repeated what we’d discovered in Streeterville, what we’d learned at the bar, and what we’d learned from Paulie. By the time I was done, Morgan was fully clothed and was sitting back in the chair, fingers linked across his stomach.

“You came across town to tell me all that?”

“We’ve identified the guy who’s been selling V to vampires. His name’s Paulie Cermak. I need to know if he looks familiar.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t generally hang around with addicts.”

The attitude wasn’t unexpected. That’s why I’d asked Jeff for the picture—this was about evidence, not irritation. I pulled out my phone and called up Paulie’s picture. “He’s not an addict. He’s a salesman, at least as far as I can tell.”

I walked closer and held out the phone, then watched to make sure he glanced over at it.

I’d expected Morgan to roll his eyes and tell me he hadn’t seen Cermak. I’d expected him to wax sarcastic about my investigation.

I hadn’t expected the wide-eyed expression.

He tensed, his shoulders squaring, his jaw clenching. He knew something.

“You’ve seen him,” I said, before he could deny it or make his features blank again. But it still took him a minute to answer.

“Six months ago. Celina never allowed humans in the House, even before Tate issued the mandate. I was on my way up here to talk to her—I don’t remember what we were meeting about. He—Cermak—was on his way out of the office. I asked her who he was. It was . . . strange that he was in the House.”

So Celina had met with the man who sold V in her own House. That was all well and good, but it was completely circumstantial.

Circumstantial or not, Morgan was clearly flustered, clearly bothered by the links he was beginning to put together. Morgan closed his eyes, then scrubbed his hands over his face and linked his hands over his head. “It really, really pisses me off when you’re right.”

“I don’t want to be right,” I assured him. “I want to be the one with ludicrous theories. I don’t want Celina making your job—or mine—harder.”

He grunted and looked away, not ready to share the details of whatever he knew. I gave him space, walking to the other side of the office where a giant window overlooked a smartly designed courtyard.

“What did Celina say about him?” I asked after a moment.

“That he was a vendor for the House.”

And things had come full circle. “And as Second, selecting vendors was your job, right?”

Morgan glanced back and nodded ruefully.

“That’s another reason it was strange that he was here. I just guessed it was a special project. I checked the books—they were fine. All the House’s funds were accounted for. But there weren’t any extra vendors listed.”

“So she hadn’t actually gotten anything from him. On the books, anyway.”

Morgan nodded.

“What else would she want with Paulie Cermak? I mean, even if they were in the drug game together, why would she want to be involved in selling drugs to vamps? Does she need money?”

Morgan shook his head. “She gets a stipend from the GP for being a member, and she’s been alive for a very long time.”

“Compound interest?”

“Compound interest,” he confirmed.

No dice there, then. “Maybe it’s the drug itself,” I suggested. “Cermak said it stood for
veritas
, which is Latin for ‘truth.’ He said it’s supposed to make vampires feel more like themselves.”

Morgan furrowed his brow, considering.

“Celina has always believed relations between humans and vampires were going to come to a cataclysmic end. She just thought she’d come out on top.”

“Which is why she’d worked to ingratiate herself to humans—to usher in the end of their reign?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But as for V, I don’t know. If she wanted ‘truer’ vampires, why not allow Navarre to drink?”

Because if she’d allowed drinking, I thought, she wouldn’t have been able to demonize Cadogan. In any event, we could ferret out her motivations later. Right now, we needed evidence.

I stared at the floor for a minute, trying to figure out if I was missing anything. But nothing occurred to me, as much as I wanted there to be an ultimate answer to all my V-related questions.

When I looked up at Morgan again, I found his gaze on me, his expression surprisingly unguarded.

“What?” I asked him.

He gave me a flat look, the implication being that he’d been reminded of the affection for me that I didn’t share. No time like the present to cut off that train of thought.

“I should get going,” I said. “I need to get changed.”

“You bringing a date?”

“Is there ever going to be a time that you don’t ask me about Ethan?”

“Only when it stops irritating you to ask.”

“Unlikely to happen.”

“And there you are.”

We stood there for a moment, and I caught the hint of a smile on his face. If he could manage to work through his anger, I could manage to have a good attitude about it.

I headed for the door. “You’re such a comedian.”

“I try, Merit. I really do.”

“Good night, Morgan.”

“Only for an hour,” he reminded me as I closed the door and walked back to the stairs.

When I reached the first floor, the cadre of vendors still stood in the lobby, milling impatiently about as they waited for their turn with Nadia. I hoped they had more patience with the Navarre House staff than I did.

When I returned to the House, Ethan and Luc met me at the door.

I looked at Ethan, prepared to tell the tale one last time. Frankly, being a proactive Sentinel involved repeating the same information over and over and over again. But the tale needed to be told, so I sucked it up and did my duty.

“Paulie Cermak is probably involved in the drug trade, and he’s not especially shy about it.

He says he’s only a bit player. His digs are in pretty bad shape, but there’s a shiny, vintage Mustang in the garage.”

I almost spilled out the rest, but thought ahead enough to glance at Ethan, a question in my eyes: Could I tell him? Could I implicate a member of the GP after the tongue-lashing I assumed he’d received from Darius? Or was I putting him in an even worse position?

“At this point,” he said quietly, “there’s no harm in candor.”

“In that case, I went to Navarre House and showed Morgan the picture of Cermak. Six months ago, Morgan saw Paulie coming out of Celina’s office. She called him a ‘vendor.’”

I watched Ethan’s expression carefully, and I’m still not sure whether I saw relief or anxiety there. The news was equally bad and good—we had a witness who could link Celina to the man who sold V, but it was Celina. She was hands-off as far as the GP was concerned.

Luc glanced around warily, then lowered his voice, as if expecting Darius to come waltzing in at any moment, receivership papers in hand. “So Celina and Paulie are acquaintances,” Luc said.

“That makes it more likely Celina was the

‘Marie’ seen by the human, and the woman in the car.”

“But we can’t prove that,” Ethan said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “And as much as it pains me to say it, that Paulie and Celina had a meeting half a year ago doesn’t mean she’s actively involved in setting up the raves or distributing V.”

“And it’s unlikely she’s going to come forward and offer the evidence on a platter,” Luc said.

“True,” I agreed, a plan already forming.

“Which is precisely why we need to draw her out.”

Ethan’s gaze snapped to me. “Draw her out?”

“Prove that Paulie and Celina are connected.

Use him to get to Celina, to draw her out, and to prove that she’s involved in distributing V and organizing the raves to help that endeavor.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Ethan asked. “What bait could we offer that would entice Celina?”

The answer was easy. “Me.”

Silence.

“You have certainly grown into your position,” Ethan dryly said. “And your willingness to take risks on behalf of the House.”

“I’m well aware that she can thoroughly kick my ass. That makes it less a risk—if more of an inevitability.”

“You are stronger than the last time you met,”

he pointed out. “You’ve bested shifters since then.”

“She knocked me out with a single kick to the chest,” I pointed out, my ribs aching in sympathy. “But that’s not the point. For whatever reason, as we’ve discussed, she’s fascinated by me. If Paulie tells her I’ll be waiting, she’d probably take advantage.”

Ethan frowned. “That is probably true.”

“I have to do it,” I told him. “We’ve identified Paulie, and we know he’s involved with Celina.

But we can’t close down V—halt the distribution

—until we have proof, at least enough evidence to take to Tate. We don’t have to take it to the GP,” I reminded Ethan. “We only need to give Tate enough information to nail Paulie and Celina so the CPD can close the loop. If we can’t rely on the GP to bring her down,” I quietly added, “then let’s help Tate do it.”

“She has a point, hoss,” Luc quietly agreed.

“She’s our best means to pull Celina out.”

After a moment, Ethan nodded. “Work your plan, Sentinel.” He tapped his watch. “But first, go get dressed.”

I only just realized that he was already prepped for dinner in a slim-fit black suit and narrow black tie. That meant he’d be waiting on me.

“I’ll go change,” I agreed. I was also going to head upstairs and use the phone number Jeff had given me to send a message to Paulie Cermak.

One way or another, I was going to find her.

GP be damned, I was going to bring her down.

Much to my surprise, I found no dress hanging on my door when I returned upstairs. The last couple of times I’d had to make social appearances with Ethan, he’d given me decadent couture gowns, presumably so I wouldn’t embarrass the House with my usual jeans and tank tops. At first, I’d been offended by the gesture. But even a girl who cut her fangs on denim and Pumas could appreciate good design when it presented itself.

This time, the door was empty of all but its small bulletin board, and the closet bore only the usual pieces of my wardrobe.

Oh, well. It was probably for the best. I didn’t really have time to be the girl who needed Lanvin just to leave the House.

Without a new option, I cleaned up and stepped into one of the other dresses Ethan had supplied. It was a knee-length, black cocktail dress, with a sleeveless bodice and swingy skirt, the fabric tucked into horizontal pleats from top to bottom.

I opted for the black heels Ethan had provided with the dress, as well as a holster that went beneath the skirt and held my dagger in place against my thigh. My Cadogan medal was my only accessory, and I left my hair down, my bangs a dark fringe across my forehead.

When I was made up, I sent a message to Paulie Cermak.

“TELL MARIE I’M READY TO MEET

HER.”

The message sent, I slipped the phone into a small black clutch. It was time to go play with the boys.

E
than was waiting on the first floor by the newel post and looked up as I stepped onto the final stair. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” I smoothed my hands over the skirt self-consciously. “No objection to the fact that I’m wearing this dress again?”

Ethan’s smile was teasing. “Don’t tell me you were looking forward to receiving another one?”

“That would be ridiculous. I’m well above such juvenile concerns.”

His smile turned a little more philosophical.

“You like the things you like. You take great joy in those things, and you should never be ashamed of that. The pleasure that you take in simple things—food, clothing, architecture—is a very attractive quality.”

I looked away from the warmth in his eyes.

“Are we ready?”

“You have your dagger?”

“I rarely leave home without it.”

“Then to the Batcave, Sentinel.”

He was in a rare, jovial mood, a mood lighter than I would have expected given the event we were about to attend. Ethan could definitely do formal; he looked good in a tux and knew how to schmooze a crowd. But the audience wasn’t likely to be receptive.

When we were in the car and buckling our seat belts, our gazes caught.

“Do you think McKetrick will attempt to waylay us this time?”

He snorted and started the car. “Given our luck, quite possibly.”

Fortunately, he was wrong. We made it to Lake Shore Drive without incident other than a nasty snarl that slowed traffic to a crawl. It was late, but that didn’t preclude a solid case of gaper’s block—the near standstill of traffic caused when drivers slowed to check out a wreck. In this case, there wasn’t even a wreck, just a couple of club-going girls who pouted beside their car while a cop wrote up a ticket.