Dark Debt (22 page)

“Any sense of where they’ll be taking us?”

“Either someplace they don’t want to be followed on the ground, or a place offshore.”

“An island in the lake?”

“That was Arthur’s thought.”

I nodded. “That could work. It would also explain why the CPD hadn’t been able to find their lair. Depending
on its location, they may not even have jurisdiction over it.”

“Your grandfather thought of that as well,” Ethan said with a smile. “He’s contacting authorities in Wisconsin and Michigan, just in case. Those seemed the most likely possibilities.”

I put a hand on his chest. “I’ll take care of myself.”

“Oh, I know you will,” he said, and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Because if you
don’t, you and Morgan will both have to answer to me.”

We met in the lobby, each group standing together in its own cluster, Morgan standing alone.

“Brody’s outside with the SUV,” Luc said. “Ethan, Morgan, Merit, and I will ride together. Detective Jacobs and the Ombuds’ folks will follow in the van.” He glanced at me. “You’ve got the earbud, and we’ll communicate that way. We’ll also
want to track your location.”

“They’ll take any electronics,” Jeff said. “So we can’t track her with GPS.”

“What about my raven bracelet?” I asked, lifting my wrist and glancing at Catcher. “If I wear it, could Mallory use that to find me?”

He considered. “Actually, yeah. She could.”

“Get her,” Ethan said. “And get her on it.”

Catcher nodded, ran for the stairs.

I glanced
at Luc. “Has Juliet found Balthasar yet?”

“No visual confirmation. We’ll let you know if we find him.”

Morgan looked alarmed. “Balthasar? What’s he got to do with this?”

“We don’t know,” Luc said. “Possibly nothing. But keep your guard up.” He looked us over, the jeans-clad man, the leather-clad woman, going into battle without so much as a dagger.

“Your instincts are going to
be your best defense here. We’ve
got the chopper on call to get you out, but if there’s any delay in finding you, you’ll have to keep yourselves alive.”

“That’s on me,” Morgan said, looking at me. “She’s my responsibility, and I accept and acknowledge it.”

“And when you return?” Ethan prompted.

“Then we’ll settle our accounts.”

FLIGHT OF FANCY

E
than and Luc escorted us into the building, past the empty security desk, and toward the elevators, where Luc selected the top floor.

“Any questions?” Luc asked.

“Not from me.” I looked at Morgan. “Anything else you’d like to say before we do this?”

Morgan shook
his head.

“In that case,” Luc said, “be careful.” He looked at me. “Remember your training, keep your stance strong, and don’t be afraid to kick ’em in the balls.”

Luc obviously favored a sentimental motivational speech.

The elevators opened to a tile-floored foyer and glass doors that led to the helipad outside. The helicopter was waiting for us, a sleek white oval with orange stripes,
its blades already thushing, the door open, a big man in black fatigues standing outside, waiting for us to enter.

My heart began to thud with nerves, excitement, the likelihood of battle, the possibility of loss.

Ethan slipped a hand around my neck, pulled me forward, pressed a hard and possessive kiss to my lips that nearly left me breathless in a completely different way.
Be careful,
he said silently.

I will. Keep that helicopter ready.

He drew back, and I put a hand on his face, took a long look at him, committed his features, his mouth, his eyes, to memory.

I followed Morgan to the helicopter, and the man directed us into our seats, strapped us in. And then we were lifting into the air, the sensation so much as if I’d suddenly been able to sprout wings it brought
inexplicable tears to my eyes. I glanced down, watched Ethan grow smaller in the distance, and hoped to God I’d see him again.

*   *   *

The city disappeared behind us in a matter of minutes, and we floated above the darkness of Lake Michigan.

An island,
I said to Morgan, an eye on the shoreline so I could keep my bearings, and explain, if it provided necessary, where we were.

Yeah. There aren’t that many close to Chicago. They’ll be able to find us.

If we have to play sacrifice the pawn, don’t volunteer.

You, either. You’re a Master, and I’m a Sentinel. We can handle this.

Some minutes later, a light began to glow in the darkness, a pale hulk growing larger in front of us.

I tapped Morgan’s hand, pointed to the shape.

He leaned over to peer out the
window.
What is that?

I’m not sure,
I said. But when the helicopter began to descend, I decided we were about to find out.

*   *   *

Unfortunately, landing didn’t really improve my understanding. We’d approached a large island and landed on a concrete helipad, the lights bright enough to obscure anything else around it.

We hopped out of the helicopter, duck-walked away from the
rotors, looked back in dismay as it lifted off again into the night.

Shit,
Morgan said, squinting from the light.

Yeah,
I agreed.

As the helicopter receded, the sound of waves crashing on the shore some distance below us filled the air.

“Let’s go,” said the man in fatigues. We followed him to the edge of the helipad where two more figures, also in black and carrying automatic weapons,
gestured us toward a well-trimmed and mulch-covered path through dense woods not yet greened by spring. After a moment, we emerged onto the small, flat lawn of what looked very much like a traditional Midwestern ranch-style house, except this one was much, much larger.

“What is this?” Morgan asked.

“Torrance Hall,” the guard said, apparently not seeing the need to be circumspect when it
wasn’t expected we’d be leaving the island again. That was concerning.

“It’s where some of the old-school Chicago mobsters kept their booze and money. Ferried it back and forth to the city when supplies ran low.” He shrugged. “Boss likes the ambience.”

He walked to the front door, opened it. We stepped into a tidy home with 1970s décor, heavy on the oranges and ochres, with tweed furniture
and shag carpeting.

The house smelled slightly musty, like a vacation home just opened for the season. Since winter had only just begun to break its hold on Chicago, that might not have been far from the truth.

“It’s dark out,” I whispered now that we were inside, using the agreed-upon code to activate the earbud, but heard only static in response. We must have been too far away for a
signal, which meant not only did we not have weapons, but we didn’t have any way of communicating with the House.

Technology,
I thought with a curse, really, really hoping Mallory was having better luck with magic.

“This way,” the guard said, and we followed him into a living room. “Stop.”

The guards with guns stood at our backs. The first guard gestured us to spread out our arms.
He patted me down, then Morgan, and when he was satisfied, began moving again.

We walked past a kitchen with avocado-toned appliances, into a den with a sunken floor dotted with throw pillows. The house had been updated by someone since the mobsters had used it, but not in the last forty years.

The guard took a passageway to an outbuilding, and when the guards with guns looked at us menacingly,
we opted to follow him inside . . . into a very recently updated game room. Bar on one end with a few high-top tables, a pool table in the middle, arcade-style video games along the wall.

Jude Maguire, shirtless and bearing a placket of bandages below his ribs, leaned over the pool table.

I cursed silently. And since I hadn’t injured his ribs, I guessed the Circle had been pissed about
our little Streeterville outing.

“Mr. Maguire,” the guard said. “They’re here.”

Jude looked up, glanced at us, then looked down at the table again. He aimed, released, and the balls sailed across the table with a
crack
of sound.

There were three other men in the room, in addition to the three guards who’d accompanied us. All of them were thick-necked and broad-shouldered, and the air
vibrated from the volume of weapons they carried.

One of the other men stepped forward for his turn, and Jude stepped back, held his cue like a pike, crossed one ankle over the other.

“They cause any trouble?” Maguire asked.

“No, sir.”

Sir? Since when was Jude Maguire a “sir”? He was muscle, not leadership. Leadership didn’t put itself in the line of fire, in clear view of the
public. And it certainly didn’t get broken ribs after a failed operation. But that hardly mattered now. Nobody in the room argued, and we weren’t exactly in a position to do so.

The second player made his selection, sent a couple of balls spinning ineffectually before giving up the board to Maguire again. He walked around the table, checking angles.

“We’re ready for your demands,” Morgan
said into the tense silence.

“Our demands,” Maguire repeated, then pulled back the cue, snapped it forward. The ball ricocheted across the table, hit the bumper, then sailed into the diagonal pocket. He rose, looked us over. “Your former Master borrowed a lot of money from us, asked for a lot of favors. And you don’t want to pay us back.”

“I’m not here to argue about the debt. I’m here
to resolve it.”

Maguire handed the cue to the man closest to him, walked toward us. “Are you? Are you in charge? Because what I see here is a man begging for relief. Begging so hard he brought a girl with him.” Maguire stopped a few feet away, crossed his arms, gave me a slow and salacious look. “A girl I didn’t finish the first time around.”

I barely managed not to growl, but didn’t bother
to hide the fangs and silvered eyes. “Just for the record, you won’t be finishing me now, either.”

“Just get on with it,” Morgan spat out. “What do you want?”

Slowly, Maguire shifted his gaze back to Morgan. “We’ve already told you what we want, and you apparently sent children to do a man’s job. We wanted King, and we wanted him dead.”

“Why?” Morgan asked.

“Because—that’s all
you needed to know to perform your task, which you failed. That means he’s in the wind.”

“I won’t kill for you,” Morgan said.

“That’s pretty obvious.” This time, Maguire slid his gaze to me. “What would you do for her?”

Maguire’s gaze snapped to something beside me, and I pivoted, lifted a hand instinctively to duck the pool stick one of Maguire’s goons was yielding like a club. I
wrenched it away from him, shoved the blunt end into his gut, pushed him backward until he bobbled and hit the ground on his ass.

Stick in my hand, wielded like a weapon, I looked back at Maguire. “I don’t need anyone to kill for me.”

He put a hand on his chest in mock apology. “I guess I misspoke. We don’t want him to kill someone for you. He’s already fucked that up. But you, we can
use. There are plenty in Chicago who want you alive, and who’d pay a pretty penny to keep you that way.”

“Using me to get King isn’t a very good idea.” Given Maguire’s sudden sneer, we’d guessed his plan accurately.

“Even assuming my grandfather knows where he is, he won’t give him up. He won’t negotiate, even for me.” I wasn’t one hundred percent confident my grandfather would make that
choice, but I was pretty certain. He was an honorable man, and believed in duty.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Maguire said. He gestured, and the man I’d pushed back barreled forward again. I gripped the pool cue, angled, and struck, intending to box his ears. But this time, he knew the blow was coming. He ducked to dodge it and aimed for my lower body, trying to grab me. I jumped
backward
to avoid him, my arms wide to keep my balance . . . and just within reach of two more humans.

One grabbed the pool cue. The other grabbed my arm, twisting it backward and nearly doubling me over. I kicked backward with the opposite leg, caught his knee. He bobbled, but retorqued my arm, sending shocks of bright pain from fingers to shoulder. I hit my knees hard, my arm high and awkward behind
me.

“A little help here,” I said, trying to wiggle myself free without dislocating my shoulder.

“Little busy,” Morgan said quietly, and I glanced his way. Maguire had an enormous handgun, nothing you’d want to meet in a dark alley, aimed point-blank at Morgan’s head. That, I guessed, would be the kind of shot that even a vampire wouldn’t survive.

“Let her go,” Morgan said, hands in
the air. “You don’t have any argument with her.”

“You’re wrong there, but then you weren’t part of our escapade yesterday. You were in your House, nice and comfortable, while your vampire was assaulted on the street. Just like Celina would have been.” Maguire’s smile was mocking. “Point being, you aren’t really in a position to make demands.”

Maguire had done his research, knew just where
to push Morgan’s buttons.

“Neither are you, if you think her family will give you anything. Her father’s an asshole, and her grandfather’s a cop. She’s right; he won’t give up King, even to save her life.”

Maguire lifted a shoulder. “Once again, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’d be bringing the wrath of the entire CPD down on the Circle, on you.”

He laughed haughtily.
“You think the CPD can touch us?
There is nothing that’s happened in this city for ten years that we haven’t approved. That includes your father’s little pet project.”

I might not have liked my father overmuch, but that didn’t mean I wanted him involved with the Circle. “Stay away from my family.”

“That’s quite impossible, since your family keeps jumping into my business. You may be immortal,
doll, but we’re connected.”

“We?” I asked, and Maguire’s expression darkened. “You mean you aren’t running this little shit show yourself? Color me surprised.”

His eyes flashed with fury, and the man behind me offered the punishment, twisting my arm harder. I winced, but kept my eyes on Maguire.

“I don’t respect a man who doesn’t fight his own battles. And speaking of which, if you’re
truly a ‘Circle,’ where’s the rest of your gang? Is it these guys? Because . . .” I glanced around, tried to look patently unimpressed.

The man behind me wrenched my arm again, this time maneuvering it up, forcing my head down, my cheek to the sticky wooden floor, littered with dirt, crumbs, and probably worse.

“You like to run your mouth,” Maguire said. “A pity, since I bet it could be
used for so many other more interesting things.”

“Tell me about Balthasar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We know the Circle’s paying for his condo. Why?”

“You think I have anything to do with that freak? No. He’s not my idea. He’s fucking nuts, is what he is.”

Stay down,
Morgan said, his gaze still steady on Maguire.

It took me a moment to adjust to his voice
in my head, but it’s not like I could have moved anyway.
What?

Stay down. I’m moving in three . . . two . . . one.

With blurring speed, Morgan dropped his arms, crossed them, pulled something small and flat from his jeans pockets, wrenched them out again. I dropped my head as something whizzed millimeters above it. There was a cry, and my arm was free.