Hard Bitten (38 page)

and of the craving that nearness inspired.

We’d moved apart in sleep, but I curled into him again, vaguely expecting him to react to the sensation with a kiss. He traced a finger through my hair, the act more comforting than erotic.

And it wasn’t enough.

“Ethan,” I muttered, my heart suddenly racing even as the sun glared down from its cradle in the sky. But as much as I wanted him, I couldn’t take that next step. I couldn’t force myself to move, to kiss him. Some of the hesitation was born from exhaustion, by the fact that I should have been unconscious until the sun sank again. But the rest was pure, unmitigated fear. Fear that if I made a move, kissed him, I’d be offering up my heart again, risking heartbreak again.

Instincts warred, because equally as powerful was the urge to step forward, to take what I wanted, to make the most of the kiss even if it wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done.

As if he knew my struggle, he smoothed a hand over my hair. “Sleep, Sentinel. The time will come when you’re ready. Until then, be still and sleep.”

I
dreamed it was the first day of high school and I was an awkwardly tall twenty-eight-year-old walking down a hallway with a new notebook and pen in hand. I’d somehow forgotten to register for classes, and even though I had two and a half college degrees, I’d also apparently forgotten to finish tenth grade.

I sat down at a desk too small for me and stared at a chalkboard filled with handwriting

—quadratic equations too complicated for me to solve. When I looked around the room, everyone else was busily filling out the stapled pages of a test.

One by one, the other students looked up and at me and began pounding their fists on the desk.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A girl with long blond hair looked over at me.

“Open the door,” she said.

“What?”

“I said, open the—”

I jolted awake, sitting straight up in bed, just in time to see Ethan disappear from the room.

I rubbed my hands across my face until I was in his room again—not a helpless sophomore out of place in a high school I was too old to attend.

I heard his door open and shut. I tried to smooth down what I’m sure was a pretty severe case of bed hair, and then threw back the covers and padded into the other room.

“What is it?”

Ethan held out a cordless landline telephone.

“It’s Jeff for you. Apparently, it’s urgent.”

Frowning, I took the phone from him. “Jeff?

What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, but I was able to dig up some more information about Paulie Cermak and his criminal history.”

I frowned. “You know Celina’s already been arrested, right?”

“And that a warrant’s been issued for Mr.

Cermak after her little confession last night.

Oh—and I hear Ethan’s warrant was torn up, so congrats on that. But that’s not the issue.”

“So, what did you learn?”

“I found the original police report—and it listed the vic’s name. Well, a last name and first initial, anyway. Guy or gal named ‘P. Donaghey.’

Also from Chicago—”

Shaking my head, I cut him off. “Jeff, I know that name.” I squeezed my eyes closed but couldn’t place it. “Can you Google it?”

“Oh, sure.” I heard fingers flowing across the keys. “Oh, this is bad.”

“Tell me.”

“‘P. Donaghey’ stands for ‘Porter Donaghey.’

He was Seth Tate’s opponent in his first mayoral election.”

Now I remembered where I’d seen Paulie’s photograph before. “Paulie Cermak punched Seth Tate’s opponent in the face.”

Ethan’s eyes went as big as saucers.

“Wait, there’s more. I’ve got pictures.

Campaign events. Tate’s on the podium, and you can see Paulie in the background.”

“Send the images to Luc,” I told him. “Same way you did before.” Something else occurred to me. “Jeff, in that file you found, did it say anything about who represented Paulie? The attorney that got the file sealed, I mean?”

“Um, let me scan.” He went quiet for a moment but for a little nervous whistling.

“Oh, crap,” he finally said.

Only one lawyer made sense. “It was Tate, wasn’t it?”

“It was Tate,” Jeff confirmed. “Cermak punched Tate’s opponent, and Tate got him off.

Paulie Cermak and Tate know each other.”

The phone still pressed to my ear, I looked at Ethan. “I don’t think that’s the end of it, Jeff. If Paulie’s involved with drugs, raves, and Celina, and Paulie and Tate know each other, then how much is Tate involved with drugs, raves, and Celina?”

“What’s the theory?” Ethan quietly mouthed.

“Tate’s under pressure to reassure Chicagoans about vampires. He decides to be proactive—he helps create a problem; he helps solve the problem. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, and his poll numbers are up by twenty percent.”

“Oh, I gotta tell Chuck about this,” Jeff said.

“Can you get an arrest warrant for Tate?”

“On this little evidence? No. You don’t have anything that ties Tate to, as you said, drugs, raves, or Celina. It’s not enough that Paulie knows him.”

“Not enough? What more do you want?”

“You’re the Sentinel. Find something.”

I hung up the phone and looked at Ethan, apology in my expression.

“I knew it wasn’t over,” he said. “I knew just as well as you did yesterday. I just wanted to momentarily bask in the possibility that we could find a few hours of peace.”

“We had a few hours,” I pointed out with a smile. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing in your apartment in a T-shirt and with some serious bed hair.”

“That is true. Your bed hair is rather serious.”

“You’re funny at dusk, Sullivan.”

“And you’re adorable. I assume it’s time for you to wreak havoc again?”

“My file’s already annotated. Better more demerits in my file than more pressure on the House.” I moved up on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his cheek. “Call Luc and Malik and get them ready for the fallout. I’m going back to Paulie’s house.”

“One moment,” he said, and before I could ask him why, he was tugging my T-shirt to pull me closer. He kissed me brutally, and then pulled back so abruptly I nearly stumbled backward.

“What was that?” I asked, my voice suddenly hoarse.

He winked. “That was the kiss you owed me.

Now go get your man, Sentinel.”

Twenty minutes later I was dressed, katanaed, and on my way to Garfield Park. Ethan, Luc, and Malik were in the Ops Room, ready to send out troops, but hoping to save the House any more involvement than necessary. They’d also conferenced in Jeff in the event I needed computer assistance.

Unfortunately, I knew something was wrong when I pulled into Cermak’s driveway. The garage door was open and the Mustang was gone.

The house was dark and empty, even the cheap lace curtains stripped from the windows.

I pulled my car to the curb just past the house.

“I was this freakin’ close,” I cursed, pulling out my cell phone and dialing up the crew.

“He’s gone,” I told him as soon as Luc answered. “The Mustang’s gone, and the house is empty.”

But then, my luck changed.

“Hold on,” I said, turning off the car and slinking down in the seat, my eyes on the rearview mirror. The Mustang pulled up to the curve. Paulie hopped out of the car and hustled toward the garage.

“What’s going on, Sentinel?” Ethan asked.

“He’s back. He’s running into the garage.

Maybe he forgot something.”

Sure enough, not ten seconds later, Paulie hustled out of the garage with . . . a steering wheel in hand.

“He forgot a steering wheel,” I dryly informed the crew, wondering if Paulie had any idea he’d soon be brought down by a car accessory. Ah, well. His loss, my gain.

After a moment, he pulled the Mustang back into the street. I waited until he’d passed me, then turned on the car and pulled out behind him.

“He’s leaving again, and I’m on his trail,” I told them. “I’m about two blocks back, so hopefully he can’t see me.”

“Which direction?”

“Um, east for now. Maybe toward the Loop?”

I heard Malik’s voice. “Maybe he’s trying to bust out Celina?”

“If he and Tate are friends, he wouldn’t need to do any busting. In any event, I’ll keep you posted.”

I hung up and put the phone down again, and then concentrated on tailing Paulie through the city. He was the kind of driver that irritated the crap out of me: he had a fine car with undoubtedly a solid engine, but he drove like his license was on the line. Too slowly. Too carefully. Of course, there was a warrant out for his arrest, so it made sense for him to avoid giving the cops any reason to pull him over.

It took twenty minutes for him to reach the Loop, but he didn’t stop there. He kept moving south, and that was when I got nervous again.

I dialed up the crew.

“We’re here,” Luc said.

“Send out some backup,” I said. “He’s heading for Creeley Creek.”

I didn’t bother entering Creeley Creek through the front gate; I didn’t want to give the mayor and his apparent crony that much warning.

Instead, I parked a few blocks up, buckled on my katana, jumped the fence, and snuck across the grounds. I’m sure there must have been security somewhere, but I didn’t see any, so I moved around the house, peeking through the low, horizontal windows until I saw them—Tate behind his desk while Paulie chatted animatedly from the other side of it.

But they weren’t alone. Who was perched on the edge of Tate’s desk?

Celina Desaulniers.

I closed my eyes, ruing my naïveté. Why would Celina have confessed to horrible acts in front of humans? Because she had a relationship with the mayor that ensured she’d get off scot-free.

This must have been part of her big plan.

Seduce the mayor, make friends with a drug distributor, and create a drug intended to remind vampires of their predatory roots. When the shit hit the fan, she could take credit for giving vamps the time of their lives, and invite humans to join the party. And she could do it all with impunity.

It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she’d glamoured Tate into doing it. He was a politician, sure, but he had seemed to genuinely care about the city. Had Celina created the entire ruse and wooed him with polling data?

I really, really hated her.

Irritation pushing aside my fear, I moved back to a nearby patio, crossed it as surreptitiously as possible, and tried the door. My luck held—it was unlocked. I padded quietly down the hallway to the room where I’d seen them, then pushed my way inside.

They all glanced at the door.

Paulie was the first to move. He backed up a few feet, moving closer to the corner of the room—and farther from the angry vampire.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

“This looks like a cozy meeting.”

Tate smiled lazily. “These young vampires have no manners these days. Didn’t even wait for an invitation, did you?”

The faux cheer worried me—and made me wonder if he was still under the influence of Celina’s glamour. I flipped the thumb guard on my sword, unsheathed it, and moved closer. No point in pretending we were here for fun.

I pointed the katana at Celina. “You set us up.”

Celina picked at a fingernail. “I did the right thing, as the GP has made clear to you time and time again. Why are you even here?” She rolled her shoulders, as if irritated.

I squinted at her in the mood lighting. “Lift your head, Celina, and look at me.”

Remarkably, she did as she was told. I could finally see her eyes—which were wide, her irises almost completely silver. She wasn’t running the show—she’d been drugged.

I’d had it wrong. Again.

I looked up at Tate. “You’re controlling her with V?”

“Only partially. I assumed you’d come calling when you figured out the connection between Mr. Cermak and me. When the police report was accessed, I received an alert. In the meantime, I thought we might amp up the drama a bit. I understand Ms. Desaulniers was quite a warrior; I decided to test V’s effects on a woman already known to be skilled. Does it make her a better fighter? A worse one? As a former researcher, you must appreciate my approach.”

“You’re crazy.”

Tate frowned. “Not even a little, unfortunately.”

Celina hopped off the corner of the desk and walked along its length, trailing a fingertip across the desktop. I kept my sword trained on her, and one eye on Tate.

“You said you were only partially controlling her with V. How else are you controlling her?”

He just sat there and smiled at me—and in that moment I felt the telltale prickle of magic in the air. But not the mildly irritating stuff Mallory and Catcher threw off. This was heavier—oilier, almost, in the way it suffused the room.

I swallowed back a burst of fear, but solved another bit of the puzzle. “You added the magical binder to the V.”

“Very good. I wondered if you and yours would discover that. Call it a signature, of sorts.”

“What
are
you?” I asked, although I knew part of the answer: he wasn’t human. I don’t know why I had never been able to feel it before, but now I knew it was true. The leaden magic he was throwing off was nothing like Mallory’s or Catcher’s.

Frowning, he sat forward and linked his hands on the desktop. “At the risk of sounding incredibly egotistical, I am the best thing that’s happened to this city in a long time.”

Was there no end to this guy’s ego? “Really?

By creating chaos? By drugging vampires and putting humans at risk?” I pointed at Celina. “By releasing a felon?”

Tate sat back again and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic. And you’ll recall Celina took the fall for the drugs. Very tidy how that wrapped up. The least I could do was reward her a bit—here in the privacy of my own home, anyway.”

I guess he’d been in on the plan to fake Celina into a meeting at Street Fest—and to make a confession. She confessed because she knew Tate would let her off the hook; the confession served Tate by “solving” the V problem. I glanced over at her. She seemed to be completely unaware Tate was talking about her. She’d stopped moving at the side of Tate’s desk and begun drumming her fingers nervously across the top. It looked like the V was beginning to kick in, to give her that irritating buzz.