Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(56)

“All evidence to the contrary.” She sat back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other. “He has some kind of affinity for supernaturals, probably because he’s friends with Chuck Merit. He should be captain right now. Was close to it, until he began involving himself in supernatural affairs.”

“In my eyes, that’s something to respect him for.”

“In my eyes, it’s something that could get him killed.”

And there it was. I sympathized, but I was sick of taking undeserved blame.

“We’re not troublemakers, although our enemies enjoy painting us that way. They also enjoy targeting us because of who we are, because we’re different. I have a great deal of respect for your father, because he understands that. I’m sorry you have to worry for him. I worry for my grandfather. But their involvement is their choice.”

“You’re frank,” she said.

“I don’t see the point of not being frank.” My voice softened, considering what her family had recently been through. “I’m very sorry about your brother. I understand he was a wonderful young man.”

Her brother, Brett, had been targeted by a serial killer whose latent crazy had been triggered by unrequited love.

Jennifer’s expression tightened. “That should help you understand my concern.”

“I understand it, but I didn’t cause it, and I’m not sure what you think I could possibly do about it.”

“Don’t involve him in your troublemaking.”

I linked my hands on the table, leaned forward. “Ms. Jacobs, I don’t know you. I don’t know your father very well, but like I said, I respect him. His intelligence, his sense of fairness, and his ability to think critically about supernaturals. I would suggest you spend a little less time accusing vampires and a little more time listening to what he actually has to say. Your attitude? It’s exactly what he’s fighting against.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not concerned about your people. I’m concerned with mine, as they aren’t immortal. Stay away from my father, and we won’t have any problems.”

She rose, slipping her handbag over her arm before grabbing the notebook. “I’ll advise my father that conditions here are fine, and you’re awaiting your attorney’s arrival. That should fulfill my part of the bargain.”

She walked to the door, glanced back. “Stay away from him.”

And with that, she walked out.

Much like the flowers at the Botanic Garden, nourished by the warmth of spring, our list of enemies was growing.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




FIRST, KILL ALL THE VAMPIRES


The House’s lawyers arrived—a bevy of men and women in smart black suits (of course) who assured me everything would be fine.

They asked me to relay what had happened; four of them took notes while one asked the questions. They explained the process, promised I’d be out on bail in no time, and told me to sit tight, that they’d get the wheels of justice moving.

Having gotten my mandated meeting with counsel, I was then placed in a holding cell for supernaturals. Ethan was already there, sitting on a bench that cantilevered out of the wall. He jumped to his feet when I entered, checking me for injuries.

You’re all right?

I’m fine, I said, taking a seat beside him on the bench. Arthur Jacobs’s daughter, Jennifer, came by to explain how unhappy she is that we’re involving her father in supernatural affairs.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. What?

She’s an attorney. He asked her to look in on us. She decided to take advantage of the situation.

I wasn’t aware we controlled his behavior. His voice was flat as a windless sea.

I’m sure she realizes that. And yet . . .

And yet it’s easier to blame the monster in front of you than the human with free will. I have apologies to make, Ethan said, but they are not to her.

I didn’t disagree with that, and since he had plenty of apologizing to do to me, I wished him luck with it.

He was going to need it.

? ? ?

We waited another hour, sharing the cell with a drunk shifter who was snoring on the floor, the smell of cheap booze obvious even a few feet away, and two River nymphs with torn dresses and black eyes. River nymphs managed the ebb and flow of the Chicago River. They were petite and busty and favored high heels, short dresses, and candy-colored convertibles. Nymphs ran hot and cold, and not much in between. The heat probably explained the injuries. But whatever animosity had been between them faded when we walked in. At the sight of us, they huddled together, enemies bonding to dish about the disheveled vampires in party clothes.

At the end of that hour, hard-soled shoes clapped toward us. A female officer with pale skin and dark hair pulled into a messy bun pointed at us, then unlocked and slid open the barred door. “You’re free to go.”

“Bond was posted?” Ethan asked, rising and walking forward.

“No bond necessary. Mr. Reed isn’t going to press charges.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but I wasn’t surprised in the least. Reed couldn’t torture us if we were locked away. He’d get more enjoyment from having us freed, forcing us to watch his ascendancy.

We signed some paperwork, picked up our personal effects, and headed outside. Jeff stood in front of the Audi, which he must have driven over from the Botanic Garden. Shifter or not, he was a stand-up man. And by his expression, still very irritated.