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Call my office - they'll put you through, day or night."
The "day" part of that was superfluous, given my little sunlight problem. The rest of it -
the fact that he'd requested a meeting from me, not Ethan, and the access he'd just granted - was surprising, but I nodded at him when he pulled back.
"Good evening," he said, with a half bow to both of us. One of his guards stepped before him and began to tunnel through the crowd. Tate followed into the space he'd made, a second guard behind him.
"He wants me to call him," I tattled, when the crowd had re-formed around us. "He told me to get in touch, anytime. That his office would put me through." I glanced up at Ethan. "What could that be about?"
Ethan frowned down at me. "I've no clue." He kept staring at me, one eyebrow arching into obvious disapproval.
"Why the long face?"
"Is there anyone who isn't infatuated with you?"
I smiled at him, with teeth. "If not, it's because you haven't assigned them to me yet.
Mata Hari at your service. Would you like to add him to the list?"
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm."
"I don't appreciate being handed out like a party favor."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What would you like me to say to that?"
I opened my mouth to give an answer just as snarky as my question, but a silver tray appeared at my elbow, interrupting me. The tray held only a small white card. JOSHUA MERIT was printed in neat block letters across it.
My heart skipped a discomforting beat, those six square inches of cardstock eliciting the same sense of dreadful anticipation they had when I was a child. My father had wanted peace and quiet and perfection, and on those occasions when he sought an audience with me for some failing in one of those categories, this is how he'd done it.
I reached out and picked up the card, then glanced at Pennebaker, who'd delivered it.
"Your father will see you in his office," he said with a bob of his head, then disappeared into the crowd.
We stood silently for a moment, my gaze on the card in my hand.
"You're ready," Ethan said, and I understood that the statement was meant to be an affirmation.
"Ready enough," I said. I smoothed the silk at my waist, and led him away.
My father rose from a black-and-chrome Mies van der Rohe couch when we slid open the top-mounted, reclaimed-wood door. Where Papa Breck's office had been warm and masculine, my father's was cold. It fit right in with the rest of the house's ultramodern decor.
"Merit, Ethan," my father said, waving us inside with a hand. I heard the door slide shut behind us and assumed Pennebaker had attended to it.
Merit, I heard in my head, as I saw what Ethan had no doubt realized and meant to warn me about - that Nicholas and Papa Breck were standing in my father's office.
Nick was in jeans, a T-shirt, and a brown corduroy sports jacket. Papa Breck, a solidly large, barrel-chested man, was in a tuxedo. They stood together, bodies close and aligned, suspicious eyes on us as we entered.
I looked at Nick, tried to ferret out his mood, which didn't take long given the anger in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. And when he looked from me to Ethan, took in the dress and the tuxedo, disappointment joined his other expressions. The others were confusing, but the disappointment stung.
Papa Breck nodded at me. That nod was apparently the only greeting he could spare for the (vampire) daughter of his best friend, for his son's former girlfriend. I hadn't seen Michael Breckenridge, Sr., in years, but I'd have expected more than a nod. Maybe words, some indication of the closeness of our families, the relationship that had existed between me and Nick. I'd practically been a member of that family, for all the summer vacations I'd spent at his house, running through the halls, through the grass, along the dirt-lined path to the labyrinth.
On the other hand, I suppose I should have considered myself fortunate, as he didn't even spare Ethan a nod.
"The Breckenridges have received information," my father said, "about a threat of violence against their son."
The surprise was evident in Ethan's expression. "A threat of violence?"
"Don't play coy," Nick muttered. "Don't pretend you don't know what we're talking about."
Ethan's jaw clenched, and he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I am afraid, Nicholas, that we have no idea what you're talking about. We do not threaten violence. We certainly have not issued a threat of violence against you."
"Not me," Nicholas said. "Jamie."
The room went silent, at least until I spoke up. "Someone threatened Jamie? What was the threat?" I asked. "And why would you think it came from us?"
Nick's gaze slowly shifted to mine, stubbornness in the set of his jaw.
"Tell me, Nick," I implored him. "I can guarantee you we haven't threatened Jamie. But even if we had, you lose nothing from telling us what you've heard. Either we made the threat, so we know what it is already, or we've been framed, and we need to figure out what the hell's going on."
Nick glanced back at his father, who nodded, then turned back to us. "Before we talked in the garden at my parents', we got a phone call at the house. Unlisted number. She said vampires were interested in Jamie."
She, Nick had said. The caller was female. Had it been Celina? Amber? Some other vamp who had it in for the Brecks, or who was itching to stir up trouble for Cadogan House?
"Today," Nick continued, "I got an e-mail. It had specifics - details about exactly how you planned to harm my brother."
Ethan frowned, clearly confused. "And why do we purportedly want to hurt Jamie?"
"The message didn't say," Nick answered, but the words were a little too quickly spoken to ring true. Maybe he knew about Jamie's story; maybe there was another reason he thought Jamie might be a target. And that wasn't the only problem with his evidence.
"How do you know the e-mail was from a Cadogan vamp?" I asked. "How do you know it wasn't just a hoax?"
"Give me a little credit, Merit. They gave me information to verify."
Ethan and I exchanged a glance. "What information?" he asked, caution in his tone.
Nick looked away, wet his lips, then looked up at me again. There was coldness in his eyes.
"There were details about you," he said, then turned that frigid gaze on Ethan. "And you.Together."
My cheeks flushed crimson. Ethan, apparently much less worried, made a soft, sardonic sound. "Rest assured, Nicholas, we have no plans to harm your brother. And I can most definitely assure you that you were not speaking with a Cadogan vampire. There is no
