2
I bolted for the window, intending to yank it up and dive through the opening. Otherwise, I’d be caught, and all of my careful surveillance of Damian Rivera and the other Circle members would have been for nothing.
But I’d forgotten about the white velvet bow hanging from the window frame, and I ran straight into it. Even worse, the fabric decided to stick to me, like an octopus clutching at my clothes.
“Shit,” I hissed, trying to peel off the clinging velvet and open the window at the same time. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Gin?” Finn’s voice rang in my ear, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?”
I finally slapped the bow away and grabbed hold of the frame. “I thought you said that Rivera was attending some charity dinner tonight?”
“He is. According to my sources, he RSVP’d several weeks ago. It didn’t even start until eight o’clock, so the dinner shouldn’t be anywhere close to being finished.”
“Well, tell that to Rivera,” I muttered. “Because he’s right outside the office.”
“Get out of there, Gin.” Finn’s voice crackled with even more worry. “Get out of there right now.”
I hoisted up the window, wincing at the faint screech it made. “Way ahead of you.”
As soon as the glass was out of the way, I ducked through the opening and stepped out onto the roof.
At least, I tried to.
My foot caught on that stupid bow again, and my leg stuck straight out in midair, as though I were doing a complicated yoga pose. I ground my teeth and yanked my foot free of the clutching fabric. The sudden, violent jerking motion pitched me forward, but I managed to stagger away from the window and catch myself before I did a header onto the roof or, worse, fell off it completely.
The second I regained my balance, I whipped around and hurried back over to the window, reaching for the frame to push it down.
Across the office, the antique crystal knob turned, and the door rattled, as though someone was putting his shoulder into the wood to force it open.
“Damn door always sticks,” a deep male voice said.
The crystal knob turned again, and the door finally swung open. I grabbed the frame and shoved the window down as fast as I could. But I didn’t have the best grip on it, and I didn’t manage to close it all the way. I grunted, trying to force the window down that final inch, even as a man stepped into the office.
If I could see him, then he could see me, so I abandoned the window and lurched to the side to get out of sight. My heart hammered in my chest, beating up into my throat, and I snapped my hand down to my side, palming a knife and waiting for the inevitable shouts of surprise and discovery.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . .
Forty-five . . . sixty . . . ninety . . .
I counted off the seconds in my head, but more than a minute passed, and no alarms blared. Instead, something else echoed out of the office and through the slightly open window to me.
Tinkle-tinkle.
The distinctive sound of ice cubes dropping into a glass, followed by the crack of a bottle opening and a steady glug-glug-glug of liquid, eased some of my worry. Still gripping my knife, I dropped into a low crouch, crept forward, and peered through the glass.
Sure enough, Damian Rivera had come home early from his charity dinner. He looked the same as in all the glamour shots on the fireplace mantel—black hair, perfect teeth, trim figure poured into an expensive gray suit. The only things that the airbrushed photos didn’t show were the red flush that stained his bronze cheeks and his slow, exaggerated movements. Someone had already had a few too many.
And he was intent on having even more. Rivera tossed back his Scotch and poured himself another, filling his glass almost to the top, like he was dying of thirst. He took another healthy swallow, draining half of the Scotch, before turning and gesturing at someone.
“Well, don’t just stand out there,” he said, his voice a suave purr. “Come in and have a drink.”
A long-suffering sigh sounded, and another man stepped into my line of sight. With his black hair and expensive suit, he could have been an older, fifty-something clone of Damian Rivera, if not for the black goatee that clung to his chin and the displeased pucker of his lips. And unlike Rivera’s sloppy state, this man’s black eyes were sharp and clear and fixed in a cold, flat stare that I knew all too well.
Hugh Tucker, the Circle’s number one vampire enforcer and my nemesis.
I sucked in a breath, my fingers curling even tighter around the knife in my hand.
“Gin?” I heard Finn’s voice in my ear again. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I got back out onto the roof in time. Rivera’s inside the office now. Tucker’s with him.”
“Be careful,” Finn said. “If Tucker sees you—”
“I know, I know. Quiet now. I want to hear what they’re saying.”
A faint sound came through my transmitter, as though Finn had started to deliver another warning, but he fell silent. I scooted forward, tilting my head so that my ear was close to the window opening for optimal eavesdropping.
Tucker joined Rivera at the bar, although he didn’t sit down on one of the padded stools. Instead, he watched his companion grab a second glass and fill it with ice and Scotch. Rivera pushed the glass across the bar to Tucker, but the vampire didn’t deign to pick it up.
Rivera grinned, not bothered in the least by the other man’s obvious hostility. He raised his own glass in a silent, mocking toast, drained all of the amber liquor inside, and smacked his lips. “You really should try the Scotch. It’s Brighton’s Best, straight from Bigtime, New York. Costs a fortune, but it’s worth it.”
Tucker’s reply was a decidedly noncommittal “Mmm.”
Rivera poured himself a third Scotch and moved away from the bar. He staggered across the office and flung himself down onto one of the brown leather couches, making it creak under his weight.
“So, Hugh,” Rivera said, his voice slurring just a bit. “What was so important that I had to leave my dinner and my lovely lady and rush back to meet you?”
Instead of answering, Tucker headed over to the fireplace, moving down the line of photos and staring at each one in turn, just as I had done. His nostrils flared with disgust as he eyed all of Rivera’s glamour shots, but he quickly moved past those, stopping at that picture of Richard and Maria Rivera standing with their son. Tucker’s nostrils flared again, as though something about the photo greatly displeased him, and he nudged the frame with his index finger, so that it was crooked and out of line with the others.
“You know exactly why I’m here.” Tucker crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face Rivera. “It’s the same problem that I brought to your attention several weeks ago. One that you have done absolutely nothing to correct.”
Rivera shrugged. “That’s because I don’t see it as a problem.”
“Well, you should,” Tucker snapped. “Since it is entirely your fault.”
Rivera leaned back against the couch, settling himself even deeper into the plush leather. He toed off his black wing tips and propped his socked feet on an overstuffed ottoman that matched the couch.
“So what if it’s my fault? No one knows about it, which means that no one’s going to do anything about it. That means that it’s not really a problem at all.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed at Rivera’s breezy tone, but the other man was too boozed up to notice the vampire’s clenched jaw and how his index finger tapped impatiently against his opposite elbow. I got the impression that Hugh Tucker was one more cavalier dismissal away from crossing the office, snatching Damian Rivera up off the couch, and snapping his neck.
Well, that would have been fine and dandy with me. I didn’t much care exactly how the members of the Circle died, only that their reign of terror ended and that they finally paid for ordering my mother’s murder. For once, I actually found myself rooting for Tucker, hoping that he would give in to his anger and take care of Rivera once and for all.
But of course that didn’t happen.
Tucker uncrossed his arms and smoothed his gray tie and matching suit jacket, using the motions to help get his anger and annoyance under control. His voice was as cold as the winter wind tangling my hair when he spoke again. “Well, I know about it, which means that he knows about it. You know as well as I do that he doesn’t like complications, and he certainly doesn’t need them, especially not now.”
My eyes narrowed. He? Tucker had to be talking about his boss, the mysterious leader of the Circle who pulled the rest of the group’s evil strings. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete bust after all.
Come on, Tuck. Say his name. That’s all I need you to do. Say his name, say his name, say his name . . .
Rivera snorted. “Really? He doesn’t want complications? You mean like all the ones you’ve caused by not killing Gin Blanco yet?”
Tucker stiffened at the insult.
Rivera gave him a smug smile, knowing that he’d scored a direct hit. “You know how our little group loves to gossip. I heard all about it. How you thought that you’d forced Blanco into finding and handing over those jewels from Deirdre’s tourist-trap theme park. But Blanco hoodwinked you instead, didn’t she? Gave you a bag full of fakes, and you were too stupid to know the difference. Why, the way I heard it, you proudly handed those fake jewels over to our fearless leader, and he was so angry that he crushed them all with his bare hands right in front of you, then made you clean up the mess.”
Tucker’s lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t say anything.
“Face it, Hugh.” Rivera’s voice took on a sneering, mocking tone. “You might work for him, but you’ll never be one of us. Not really. Never again. Not only did your father squander your family’s wealth, but he also ruined your position in the group. You’ll never get back that standing, that respect, no matter how hard you try.”
Tucker’s face remained flat and expressionless, but he couldn’t hide the faint red blush creeping up his neck, almost as if he was embarrassed by Rivera’s revelations.
I frowned. I’d thought that Hugh Tucker was second-in-command of the Circle, right below the mysterious he. But Rivera was making Tucker sound like some castoff, some poor country cousin who had fallen on hard times. Some servant the members of the Circle charitably let do their dirty work in exchange for the privilege of hovering in their highfalutin orbit. It almost made me feel sorry for the vampire.
Almost.
“And then, of course, there was your unfortunate choice of a woman back then, which only compounds all your many mistakes with Blanco now.” Rivera’s lips curved up into a cruel smile. “Tell me, Hugh, are you still carrying a torch for Eira Snow after all these years?”
I gasped, shock jolting through my body like a lightning bolt. I lurched back from the window, causing one of my feet to slip out from under me. My other foot went flying, and my ass hit the roof a second later.
Thud.
For a moment, I just sat there, eyes wide, mouth gaping open, arms and legs splayed out at awkward angles, knife dangling from my fingertips, as though someone had just shot me in the heart and let my body drop wherever it might. My mind struggled to process Rivera’s words, as if I were trying to translate some foreign language that I’d never heard before.
Hugh Tucker and my mother?
No—no, no, no, no, no.
As soon as the horrible thought formed in my mind, I forced it away. There was no way that Tucker had loved my mother. Not when he’d stood by and let Mab Monroe kill her. But my mind kept churning, and another equally horrible thought popped into my head.
My mother couldn’t have possibly loved Tucker in return . . . could she?
No—no, no, no, no, no.
Bile rose in my throat, and I thought that I was going to vomit all over the roof—
Soft scuffs sounded, penetrating my sick shock, and I noticed a shadow growing larger and larger next to me, as though someone was walking toward the window and blocking the light from inside the office. I hadn’t made a lot of noise falling on my ass, but Tucker was a vampire, and the blood he drank was more than enough to give him enhanced senses, including supersharp hearing.
Years of Fletcher’s training took over, cutting through the last of my shock, and I scrambled to my feet, lunged forward, and pressed myself up against the side of the mansion, leaning my head forward just enough so that I could still see in through the glass.
Not a moment too soon.
Tucker appeared in the window. The vampire pushed the white velvet bow out of the way and stepped forward, his nose almost pressed up against the glass, peering out into the darkness beyond. No doubt his sight was as sharp as his hearing, and I didn’t dare move a muscle for fear that he would notice me out of the corner of his eye. Even though my heart was pounding, I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths through my nose and exhale the same way, not making any more noise than absolutely necessary.
After several long, tense seconds, Tucker relaxed and drew back, although his gaze dropped to the window, which was still cracked open. His eyebrows drew together, as though he was puzzled about why the window would be open at all on such a cold night.
“Well?” Rivera called out, his voice still snide. “You didn’t answer my question about Eira. Still missing your little lovebird? From what I’ve been told, the two of you made quite the handsome couple back in the day.”
Couple?
No—no, no, no, no, no.
The denial rose up in me again, along with that bile in my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it all down. Now was not the time to let my emotions get the best of me.
Tucker’s face twisted at Rivera’s mocking tone, and his black eyes practically glowed with murderous rage. Whatever had happened between him and my mother, whatever feelings he might have had for her, it was a chink in his armor, and Rivera had scored another bull’s-eye.
Once again, I thought that Tucker might give in to his rage, whirl around, and attack the other man, but instead he tilted his head to the side, studying the open window again, as though it held some great secret. A second later, his face smoothed out, and his lips lifted into a faint smile, as though he was pleased by something. I stayed anchored in place, scarcely daring to breathe, thinking that the vampire had spotted me after all and expecting him to yell out that there was an intruder on the roof.
But Tucker left the window open, turned around, and strode out of my line of sight. “I didn’t come here tonight to talk about the past. Only your future, Damian. Which will be decidedly short and unpleasant if you don’t take care of things the way that he wants you to.”
Rivera scoffed, and the ice tinkle-tinkled in his glass again as he downed the rest of his Scotch.
I waited several seconds, giving Tucker plenty of time to move away from the window, then sidled forward and peered through the glass again. The vampire was back standing beside the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Rivera, who had set aside his empty glass and was now yanking off his tie, completely unconcerned by Tucker’s threats.
Tap-tap-tap.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and a third man stepped into the office: Bruce Porter, Rivera’s head of security.
Porter was a dwarf, five feet tall with a compact, muscled body that looked even harder than the stones that made up the fireplace. He too wore a suit, although it wasn’t nearly as expensive as his boss’s. His eyes were a pale blue, while his gunmetal-gray hair had been buzz-cut so short that it was barely more than bristle covering his head. His fifty-something face bore the deep lines and perpetual ruddy skin of someone who’d spent years standing in the sun waiting for other people to tell him what to do.
Porter moved with stiff, military precision as he strode over and snapped to attention at Rivera’s elbow. “Sir,” he said in a deep, soft voice. “As requested, I escorted your lady friend to the estate. She’s waiting in your bedroom.”
Rivera bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “Good man, Porter.”
The dwarf nodded at Rivera, then politely tipped his head to Tucker too. For a moment, the vampire’s gaze flitted from Porter over to the photos on the mantel. Then Tucker looked at the dwarf and returned his nod before focusing on Rivera again.
“You have exactly one week to take care of your problem,” Tucker said. “And not a second longer.”
Rivera chuckled, squirmed even deeper into the couch cushions, and laced his fingers behind his head. “I might actually be frightened if it were anyone but you threatening me. Face it, Hugh. We both know that you’re just a barking dog on a chain. There’s no real bite to you at all.”
Once again, that thin, pleased smile played across Tucker’s lips, as if the other man’s sneering dismissal was exactly what he wanted to hear. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
His final threat delivered, Tucker strode out of the office.