Chapter Twenty-One
Two days later, Wyland used the Underworld Council meeting’s last scheduled break to return some phone calls. He’d just left his last message when Bailey gestured to him from the conference room adjacent to Elliott’s office, where she sat with Jack. He glanced across the lobby to Sebastiani Labs’ open boardroom doors. The catering staff was still refreshing the beverages, and Elliott’s executive assistant, Willem Lund, was nowhere in sight.
They had time.
When he entered the room, Bailey, looking simultaneously annoyed, resigned, and excited, handed him an evidence bag. “Look what I received at work today.”
Mental alarm bells clanged. Peering through the clear plastic, he studied the familiar-looking business envelope, with its generic Times New Roman font, lack of return address, and downtown Minneapolis postmark. “Where’s the stamp?” he asked Jack.
“We’re testing it for trace.”
Flipping the packet over, he read the letter from beginning to end. His eyes narrowed. “The fact that you have succubus blood is closely-guarded information.”
“Very closely guarded,” she agreed.
A puzzle piece clicked into place. “You suspect a confidentiality breach at the hospital.”
Bailey nodded curtly. “And if I’m right, we just caught a huge break.”
Pissed off that her private data had been compromised, she was a sniper on the hunt. “Who else knows about your test results in the…” What was that disgusting phrase he’d heard her use? “In the meat world?”
“Rafe, of course. You and Jack.” She ticked names off on her fingers. “Lukas, Scarlett, Elliott, Claudette. Dr. Melvin and Dr. Penn.”
Too many people, but every person except Rafe was either a Council member or a doctor, and well-versed in confidentiality. “How about Sasha or Antonia?”
“No.” Bailey tapped her index finger against her lip. “No, we need to look at the hospital. Every person who treated me had access to my records.”
“With a valid reason, and within specific parameters,” he said. “I have to log on and log off every time I examine a patient. I have to log off if I leave a patient alone in an exam room for any reason. There are access limitations, and policies and procedures, governing who can access which data, when, why, and how.”
The cynical look she shot him called him naïve. “And who slaps your hand when you forget to log off? Who even realizes it happens?” she asked. “Policies and procedures are only as good as the programming and oversight which enforces them. All programs have bugs. All processes have loopholes. People are the weakest link.”
Jack pulled a notebook from his briefcase. “We need a list of everyone who treated you, everyone who accessed your records, when you were in the hospital.”
“And since,” Bailey muttered. “We need help from the technology staff. We need to suspect the technology staff. And depending on the security architecture…” Bailey rattled off a series of technical questions. Jack, scribbling in his notebook, tried to keep pace.
“I’ll get you the names of people who can answer your questions,” Wyland reassured her. The hospital’s CTO would answer to him, tonight. It was bad enough that Bailey had received a threatening letter from an unhinged species purist, but if that unhinged purist exposed her private medical data to humanity, they’d have a much bigger problem on their hands. He turned toward the door. “I’ll roust the CTO out of bed as soon as the Council meeting is over—”
“Hold on.” Jack reached into his briefcase again. “A couple more things before you leave. First, I have some information about the man who assaulted Tia in SebSec’s parking lot—not a lot of information, but some.”
His hands formed fists.
“We finished analyzing the security tapes,” Jack continued. “The assailant is male, about 5’10”,wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. Black knit hat covering his hair, a dark bandanna tied around his face. No hair color, no eye color. There was a crowbar left at the scene, but there were no prints.” Frustrated, he tossed the file folder onto the table. “Someone’s been watching CSI.”
“Approximate age?”
Jack shook his head. “Adult male muscle mass, and he moved smoothly, with purpose.”
“Until Tia showed up,” Bailey broke in. “Her arrival threw him.”
“Given where she parked, and the angle of the security cameras, we can’t see what happened in the front seat of the car,” Jack said. “He was already inside when Tia opened the driver’s door. There’s a struggle; Tia said he was trying to steal her camera. She falls backward, hits her head on the edge of the driver’s door, then falls, unconscious, to the pavement. He runs westbound from the parking lot.”
Leaving Tia for the sun.
“We’re canvassing the neighborhood, pulling security tapes from other businesses. It’s taking some time.” Jack’s lips tightened. “We also discovered why she lay undiscovered in the parking lot for so long. The person monitoring the cameras here at SebSec stepped away for a glass of champagne when news of Coco’s birth made it down to the first floor. That person is no longer employed by Sebastiani Security.”
Wyland nodded, satisfied. The worker’s lapse had almost cost Tia her life. “And the other thing?”
Jack pulled another evidence bag from his briefcase.
“Another letter? Whose is it?”
Jack looked at him oddly. “Tia’s, of course.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What?”
Jack and Bailey exchanged a glance, then Jack handed him the bag. “Tia gave it to me at Stanton and Lyudmila’s party.”
Fear was cold, like a polar vortex. “When did she receive this?” And why hadn’t she told him about it?
“She said she found it in her mail the day of the party,” Jack answered. “Honestly, she didn’t seem very worried about it. When she handed it to me, she rolled her eyes and said it was probably her turn.”
But why hadn’t she told him about the letter? She’d had plenty of opportunity: When he’d gone to the guest room. When he’d carried her to his bedroom. After they’d made love, while they’d showered together. They’d had nothing but time during the long ride to the party, or on the way back, when they’d finally joined in the most elemental way two vampires could.
Several days had passed. He’d sensed nothing amiss.
The emotional sting, for that’s what it was, receded slightly. Jack was right. He hadn’t sensed even the slightest throb of concern from Tia because she hadn’t been worried about it. “She should be. Worried, that is.”
“Damn right she should.” Jack’s expression was grim. “Look at the mailing address on the envelope.”
Marine on St. Croix, not Stillwater. His address, not hers. Damn it. “He knows where she is.” And he hadn’t heard from her today. He made a clumsy grab for his phone. The evidence bag fell, unheeded, to the floor.
Jack was suddenly at his side, holding onto his arm. “Wyland, she’s okay. She’s okay. Nick’s with her. He dropped her off at the Archives not fifteen minutes ago.”
“He dropped her off?”
Jack’s grip tightened. “A figure of speech. He pulled the SUV into the garage, closed the door behind them, then escorted her downstairs. He made sure the security doors were engaged on every level before he went back to Vamp Central. She promised Nick she’d call him when she was ready to leave.”
The ventilation system seemed unnaturally loud…or maybe that was him, struggling to draw a single, stingy breath. Okay. Okay. She’d promised to call Nick. She’d promised. “Sorry.” When he cleared his throat, he tasted bile. “You can let me go now.” Because Jack still held him by one arm, and Bailey by the other. Supporting him. “Thank you.”
After an embarrassingly long hesitation, they backed away. Jack had just picked up the fallen evidence bag when Willem appeared at the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to resume.”
Time to get back to business.
They followed Willem back to the boardroom, where the Underworld Council’s representatives, two for each species, gathered around the long, glossy table. Except for Lukas and Scarlett, they had a full house today, with Val attending the beginning of the meeting via holo but then departing. He and Bailey were next on the agenda, with an update on their archiving project, followed by Jack, who’d provide a Security and Technology update. In one more hour, two at the most, he’d be able to go home. Once there, he’d chew Tia out personally, then tie her to the bed for a whole goddamn day.
While Bailey connected her laptop to the display device, he made a detour to the beverage station. While he prepared his drink, Willem took a quick walk around the boardroom, ensuring the windows’ security filters were still activated before closing the big double doors and taking his seat at Elliott’s right. “Are we ready to resume?”
At his nod, Willem resumed the meeting recording. Picking up the ceramic coffee mug, Wyland sipped, then nearly stumbled. Instead of warm coffee, chilly carbonated bubbles danced on his tongue.
He’d made himself a blood-spiked Mountain Dew.
“Wyland?” Bailey’s voice dragged his attention to the oversized flat screen monitor mounted on the far wall. Their presentation was displayed, ready to go, and around the table, a dozen colleagues looked at him expectantly.
Waiting.
He drained the mug as fast as the carbonation allowed. The blood zinged into his system, giving him the boost he needed, and as Bailey advanced the slides, he quickly and succinctly provided their update, focusing on document preservation and digitization work. Unfortunately, Tia’s priceless contributions—her interviews with Valerian—were condensed to a single anonymous bullet point. “We’re embedding audio and video materials as time and resources allow,” he concluded. It was better all the way around if Krispin Woolf assumed Bailey was doing the work. “Are there any questions?”
As Krispin opened his mouth, the air around Lukas’s empty chair flickered. When he shimmered into the seat, he wasn’t alone. Scarlett sat at his side, cradling Coco. With the holograph optimized for one large person, not two people sitting hip to hip, their slightly translucent bodies exceeded the width of Lukas’s boardroom chair. They looked tired but ecstatic.
Elliott’s grin nearly split his face in two. “There’s my little Coco Bean—”
“Shhh!” Scarlett whispered, frantically waving her hand. “She’s finally asleep.”
“We just wanted to say hello,” Lukas said quietly, “and to thank everyone for their gifts and good wishes.”
Though the holo wasn’t the best diagnostic tool, Scarlett seemed to be moving well, and her cheeks were washed with healthy color. Lukas clearly hadn’t touched a razor in days, but the stress lines around his eyes had smoothed out.
His patients were on the mend.
After a couple of minutes that found half of the Underworld Council lapsing into baby talk—an audio file Tia would probably kill to get her hands on—Lukas and Scarlett dropped off the conference call.
“Well.” Elliott leaned back in his chair, every inch the proud grandpa. “Where were we?”
Willem consulted the record. “Wyland had just opened up the floor for questions about the archiving project.”
“I have a question for Wyland,” Krispin said. “More of a comment, actually.”
Danger suddenly stained the air, and his fangs dropped to meet it. Jack and Lorin glanced at each other and straightened in their chairs.
“Congratulations.” Despite his jocular voice, Woolf eyed him like prey. Their gazes clashed across the table, both of them wielding silence like swords. Finally, Krispin spoke again. “I understand you have a new lover. A very…young lover.”
“Wyland’s private life is not a subject for discussion,” Elliott snapped.
“Maybe it should be.”
The other man’s words twisted like a dirty knife, but he’d be damned if he let Woolf know he’d hit his target. His blood was boiling, his vision bleeding red at the edges, but this was the Underworld Council boardroom, a neutral space. Violence was verboten.
A vein throbbed at his temple. Bloodlust pounded a savage beat.
He wanted to tear Woolf’s throat out.
“Wyland, I know it’s been a long time since you dipped your wick,” Woolf said, “but…fucking an investigative journalist?”
He burst to his feet. Papers flew and the mug tipped over, spilling what was left of his drink. Jack and Lorin shoved out of their chairs, sending them rolling toward the wall. Before he knew it, Lorin had his wrist clamped in a vice-like grip, and Jack stood behind Krispin Woolf, who hadn’t moved a muscle.
He might not have moved, but his eyes positively danced.
Wyland hissed, exposing every fang in his mouth. He tried to jerk away from Lorin, but she simply clamped down harder.
Woolf started rising to his feet.
Jack reached for his shoulders.
“Stop!” Claudette’s powerful siren’s voice rolled through the room. His muscles obeyed, locking him—locking everyone—in place. Across the table, Jack’s arms hung suspended, parallel to the floor; he’d been reaching for Woolf, who was frozen in a half-stand. Seated next to his father, Jacoby Woolf looked horrified. Lorin’s grip was painfully tight. His spilled drink dripped over the edge of the table and onto his shoe.
“Don’t panic,” Claudette said. “I’ve primarily targeted large muscle groups. The effects will wear off in approximately thirty seconds.”
Bloody hell, what if they didn’t? He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Best he could tell, his brain, lungs, and circulatory system were working, but everything else was immobile.
Any Council member stupid enough to think Claudette Fontaine had bonded with Elliott Sebastiani primarily to share his power had just been reminded that she had plenty of her own.
As Claudette walked towards Willem, whose hands hovered, suspended, over his keyboard, she rattled off the date and time. “Meeting adjourned.” Reaching around his fingers, she poked a key with her manicured nail. “Recording off.” She looked at Krispin, then at him. “Gentlemen, here’s how this is going to go down. Once you regain normal muscle function, Bailey will escort Wyland from the room. Krispin, Jack will accompany you to your car, and you will leave the premises. Do you understand?”
Clearly she didn’t expect an answer, but he tried to show his agreement with his eyes. Tried to apologize, for all the good it did. Her voice had frozen him with his fangs flashing—proof positive that he’d violated the Council’s most fundamental principle.
Krispin Woolf had played him like a grand piano.
Across the room, there was movement; Jack’s arm suddenly dropped. A couple of seconds later, Wyland felt his own muscles come back on-line, quickly and painlessly, with none of the neural tingling he’d expected. Lorin relaxed her grip on his wrist.
“Relax, everyone.” Claudette’s voice was a soothing balm, removing all tension from the room.
Everyone took a deep breath. His fangs receded. Lorin gave his hand a quick squeeze.
“Bailey, please escort Wyland from the room,” Claudette said.
He and Bailey both took an involuntary step toward the door. It felt like someone had nudged him from behind.
“Damn,” Bailey whispered.
Damn was right. At least Claudette hadn’t marched him from the room like a marionette on strings. Like he deserved. “I—” His vocal cords felt rusty. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I apologize for the disruption.” After a pause, he bowed his head, then strode from the room. Bailey followed closely behind, grabbing his elbow as they crossed the executive suite’s carpeted lobby. She led him to the small conference room they’d so recently left.
Bailey pointed at a chair. “Sit.”
He sat.
“I’ll be right back.” She closed the door, leaving him alone.
But not for long. They, along with most of the people in the room they’d just left, were supposed to attend a follow-on meeting in Elliott’s office after the Council meeting ended.
If he still had a job, which was by no means a safe assumption. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, rubbing his temples. He had to inform Val, tell him—
“Here.” Bailey plunked a tall glass of warm blood onto the table, then sat down. “You know Woolf’s talking out of his ass, right?”
“Is he?” Woolf hadn’t said anything at the Council meeting that he hadn’t privately said to himself, more than once.
“Wyland, don’t let him in your head.”
Too late. “Maybe he’s just the first person to have the guts to say what everyone else is thinking—that I’m a middle-aged man besotted by his inappropriately young lover.” A bleak bark of laughter escaped. “What a fucking cliché.”
“No—”
“Never mind her age, she’s a bloody journalist. Woolf’s right—what the hell am I thinking?”
“That you love her! That you love her, and that she loves you. Now shut up and listen to me for a minute. Christ on a cracker, what is it with lawyers?” she muttered. “Between you and Jack, it’s a miracle I get a word in edgewise.”
He lifted a brow. “You appear to be doing just fine.”
She took his hands in a none-too-gentle grip. “Listen. Yes, she’s younger. Yes, she’s a journalist. But she’s a journalist from your culture, and she knows the goddamn rules. I know, because I’ve checked.” The grip tightened. “I’ve checked, Wyland. Exhaustively. Thoroughly. I can’t find even one time where she’s leaked information, or fed the grapevine. She’s never published anything that could put your culture at risk. She hasn’t violated your trust.” She paused. “Unlike Deirdre d’Amour.”
Shock rocked him back in his seat. “How do you know about—”
“Dude, who do you think wrote your bio for the Archives? A bio I notice you modified recently, but I’ll save that lecture for another time.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Wyland, I get that you’ve been burned. We all have. But Tia makes you happy. You’ve been happy.”
“Do I look happy to you?”
“No, you look miserable,” she said cheerfully. “You’re in love. Welcome to the club.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but then closed it again, thinking back to the limo ride home, to the snarl of emotions they’d exchanged along with their blood. To the way their heartbeats had combined, thundering together. “Does everyone else really walk around feeling so…out of sorts? So off-balance? How in the world do you get any work done?”
She laughed. “The ‘oh shit’ feeling passes. It does,” she reassured him.
“I just want my life back.”
“No, you don’t.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Wyland, you weren’t living. You were existing.”
She was right. He’d been living in black and white for over a century. Tia lived in Technicolor, leaving vivid splashes in her wake. Tia was laughter and light, the sunlight to his shade, bringing him pleasure after centuries of duty. But…the yoke of duty satisfied him, too, and brought him a true sense of purpose and accomplishment. He said as much, adding, “Other people rely upon me, but…she doesn’t.”
“An independent woman bothers you?”
Her facial expression told him he’d better consider his answer very, very carefully. “No, of course not, but—”
“Wyland, she’s with you because she wants to be, not because she needs to be. You mentioned the yoke of responsibility?” Bailey gave a half-shrug. “Let her share the load. Be happy, and enjoy the journey.”
“How can I be happy if I have to resign from Council to keep her?” The decision would cleave him in two.
“Oh, please,” Bailey scoffed. “No one’s going to ask you to resign.”
“I broke the rules. No violence in the boardroom.”
“You didn’t touch him.”
“I would have,” he admitted. “Claudette stopped me before I could.”
“Yes, she stopped you. Nothing happened.”
“Your interpretation of events is far too charitable. If I hadn’t exhibited clear, violent intent, Claudette wouldn’t have found it necessary to act.” The fact that she had would go down as one of the most mortifying moments in his very long life.
“I think you’ll find everyone else agrees with me.” Bailey gestured behind him. “Look.”
He peered through the narrow slice of window, where everyone except Krispin and Jacoby milled in the lobby, waiting for them. “We’re late for the meeting.” If he still had a job five minutes from now. Well, he’d find out soon enough.
“Dude, they don’t give a damn about the meeting. They’re worried about you.”
He pushed to his feet, then straightened his suit jacket and tie. “Ready?” Without waiting for her answer, he opened the door, then walked directly to Elliott and Claudette.
“Wyland.” Claudette clasped his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what? I’m the one who—”
“Scared the crap out of Krispin Woolf?” Antonia sidled up with a delighted grin. “That was so freaking awesome.”
He shot her a quelling glance. “It was completely inappropriate.”
“He was inappropriate first.”
“Yes, he was,” Claudette seconded. She gave his hands a squeeze. “How are you doing?”
Everyone crowded around, too many bodies standing too close. He didn’t deserve their comfort. Couldn’t accept it. His throat tightened up. If he didn’t speak soon, he’d never be able to get the words out. “Elliott, please accept my resignation from the Underworld Council.”
Silence descended. Elliott finally spoke. “No.”
“What?”
“No,” Elliott repeated. “Your offer is declined.”
“But, surely you can’t allow—”
“Wyland.” Elliott looked tired. “If you want to argue as an intellectual exercise, you and Jack can have at it, but Krispin instigated the situation. His comments were inexcusable.” He glanced at his bondmate. “Thankfully, Claudette was there to prevent the situation from escalating.”
“He…blind-sided me,” Wyland admitted. Relief coursed through him. “It won’t happen a second time.”
Claudette’s nod seemed reluctant. Hell, he wouldn’t find his words very convincing, either.
“We are fractured,” Claudette said softly. “The Council is fractured.” She waved a hand at the room. “Look at us. Look at this. It’s 2:00 a.m. We just finished a nine-hour Council meeting. We’re about to go into Elliott’s office to discuss these threatening letters, but without the wolves. We’re having a de facto Council meeting, without the wolves, because there’s a fair chance that—that—”
“That the Alpha, or someone in his employ, might be responsible for sending them,” Bailey said.
Claudette took a deep breath, then released it. “Yes.”
Elliott gestured to his office. “Let’s take this conversation behind closed doors.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to settle. Jack and Bailey set up laptops at the four-person conference table next to the wall-mounted monitor. Antonia sat, cross-legged, on top of her father’s massive mahogany desk. Lorin and her mother, Valkyrie First Alka Schlessinger, joined Elliott and Claudette on love seats in the sleek furniture grouping, leaving the chair next to Elliott for him. Lukas and Scarlett usually shared the other chair.
The smaller group met here frequently enough that they basically had assigned seats. Claudette was right; the Council was fractured.
Elliott picked up the conversation. “We suspect Krispin Woolf of being responsible for a great many things, but there’s never been any evidence to connect him to a crime. Has that changed?”
Jack looked up from his laptop. “No.”
“It’s there,” Antonia muttered. “Keep looking.”
Elliott didn’t censure his daughter for saying what everyone was thinking. “Any evidence, should it be discovered, must be incontrovertible. No loopholes, no mistakes.” Elliott turned to him. “Please continue your research.”
Six months ago, Elliott had privately asked him to prepare a legal brief listing all possible scenarios under which a Council member could be removed from their seat. Though Wyland hadn’t asked, he’d known exactly which Council member was in the president’s crosshairs. What a relief to know Elliott still trusted him—
Jack’s phone pealed with a Code Red. “Excuse me,” he said, quickly silencing the device.
While Jack read, Bailey closed his laptop, collected his notebook and pen, and slipped them into his briefcase, a dance they’d performed countless times before. Their covert police force tagged Sebastiani Security when serious crimes occurred. A Code Red meant Jack had to leave.
“How about we adjourn?” Elliott suggested with a tired-sounding sigh. “Let’s go home, get some sleep. This isn’t a problem we’re going to solve tonight.”
“Seconded,” Antonia said through a yawn. “Let’s stick a fork in it.”
Wyland rose. He had rounds at the hospital, so the comfort of his own bed was at least half a day away—and once he dressed Tia down for not telling him about that letter, there was a good chance he’d be sleeping there alone.
“There’s been a break-in at the Archives,” Jack said.
His heart punched him in the ribs.
“Tia’s fine,” Jack reassured him. “She’s a little rattled, but she’s fine.”
The woman was going to be the death of him. “What happened?” He joined Jack and Bailey at the table.
“According to Nick, someone accessed the garage, then tried to force the security door at the top of the stairs. The alarm had barely gone off at the house when Tia called Nick, and dead-bolted herself in the lower-level bathroom. When he and the team got there, the perp was gone.”
Tia would never work at the Archives alone again.
“How the hell did someone get in the garage?” Bailey asked.
Jack’s expression was grim. “Good question.”
When Wyland’s phone vibrated, he grabbed it. A text from Tia: Attempted break-in at the Archives. I’m fine. Artifacts fine. Nick is here. Talk to you soon. <3.
In five simple sentences, she’d covered the basics—enough to ratchet his tension down a notch, at any rate—but… He showed the message to Bailey. “What does that symbol at the end mean?”
She grinned at him. “Aww, Tia sent you a heart. Or testicles. Depends on the context.”
Heat crept up his neck, but he ignored it. During the time frame the break-in must have occurred, he hadn’t felt even a blip of second-hand fear or fright from Tia. They hadn’t exchanged enough blood to have a reliable long-distance connection yet, but even if they had, he’d been too busy snarling at Krispin Woolf to notice. “We’re an hour away,” he said to Jack.
“Nick’s there,” Jack reminded him. “And the sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive.”
Jack’s logic was impeccable. Annoying, but impeccable. “Let’s go.”
They left Elliott’s office and took the elevator down to the underground parking garage. Wyland’s Porsche was in the row closest to the door. “Keep that thing to the posted speed limit,” Jack advised. “You’re no good to her dead.”
“You’re just full of pithy platitudes tonight.”
“But I’m right.” Jack started walking toward his Volvo sedan. “See you there.”
As Wyland climbed behind the wheel, he sat for a couple of heartbeats, then glazed his emotions with a sheet of ice. Jack was right. He’d concentrate on the drive, and he’d arrive alive. He’d hold it together, for a time.
But sooner or later, the ice would crack beneath his feet.
It inevitably did.