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"Do me a favor, would you, Jeff? E-mail me the picture of Cermak from the video footage?"
"You got it."
Once I'd received his e-mail, I put away the phone. I considered calling Ethan to give him an update, but the idea made my stomach roil. He'd just been on the phone with Darius, and I really didn't want to know how that conversation had played out.
Ethan probably also wouldn't have approved of my next trip. No - a visit to Navarre House seemed like one of those things for which it would be easier to apologize later than get permission in the first place, especially with a grouchy GP leader in the city.
Decision made, I pulled away from the curb. It was time to visit the Gold Coast.
Chapter Seventeen
TWO MASTERS AND ONE BAD ATTITUDE
I was halfway to Navarre House when the phone rang again. It was Jonah, so I flipped it open and nestled the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Hi, Jonah. What's up?"
"Just checking in. How's the investigation progressing?"
"Well, we were able to ID the short man Sarah saw outside the bar. Found video with his car on it. Guy named Paulie Cermak. I just paid him a visit."
"Get anything interesting?"
"Not really. He's got a crappy house and a fabulous vintage Mustang. He's not exactly shy about his work, but his story is that he's a bit player. He says he's got management running the show. The police didn't find anything to pin on him, so I don't think we'll have much luck, either."
"Any chance McKetrick's in charge?"
"He seems to have no idea who McKetrick is.
He also says V stands for veritas."
"Truth?"
"The very same."
"That's awfully deep for a pill pusher."
"That's exactly what I thought."
"Great minds and all," he said, with an amusing tone in his voice. "You coming to the shindig tonight?"
"I am. You?"
"With bells on . . . and a fine Italian suit I have no choice but to wear."
"Just be glad you only have to pull it out on special occasions," I told him. "You guys get jerseys - we get fine Italian suits every night."
He chuckled. "Very true. Hey, speaking of Ethan, a headsup - my story is that we met for the first time outside Temple Bar after the incident."
"Fine by me. Have you talked to Darius this trip?"
"Not yet. I've been with the guards today. We were training. Why?"
"Just a heads-up, he's kind of an ass." I regretted the words the instant they were out of my mouth. Sure, Jonah had done me a solid, but did I really know anything about him? Other than his pretty-boy looks and ridiculous overabundance of graduate degrees?
"Well aware," Jonah said. "He and Scott went a round about the jerseys, actually. Darius found them unbecoming of Housed vampires."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "That does sound like something he would say. I guess Scott won the battle eventually?"
"I wouldn't say he won it per se. More like he wouldn't give in and Darius eventually lost interest in the argument."
"That's a risky strategy with an immortal," I said. "They've got all the time in the world to argue."
"Speaking on your own behalf?"
"Me? Of course not. I'm not at all stubborn and completely flexible."
"Liar," he slyly said. "Well, I'll stop harassing you and let you get back to it. Call me if you need me."
"Will do. Thanks."
I tucked the phone away again, a little weirded out by the phone call. It was nice of Jonah to check in - to work from the assumption V was a problem vamps needed to face together. All hands on deck, as it were, instead of the Sentinel going it solo.
On the other hand, the conversation had sounded a little . . . datey. He was checking in, asking what I was doing later. Maybe he hadn't meant anything by it. Maybe he really was warming up to me and my various charms. But there was a flirty, friendly edge to his voice that I hadn't heard before . . . and I wasn't entirely thrilled to hear now. Flattered? Yes. But I didn't need the complication.
I also wasn't thrilled that I'd just given Jonah an update I hadn't yet provided to Ethan. I didn't like deception, especially not when it came to deceiving someone who'd saved my life once upon a time. I knew why I was withholding information from him, but that didn't make it any more comfortable.
The irony? I'd railed against Ethan for withholding information from me. Not that it had stopped him, but it still drove me crazy. And here I was, doing the same thing. Were my reasons any better? Had his been any worse?
And although we weren't a couple, the dishonesty felt wrong. Like a breach of the trust we'd earned, a kind of trust that went beyond Sentinel and Master. I was also missing out on using Ethan as a sounding board about Jonah and the RG. If there was any possibility he could be neutral, a second opinion would have been helpful.
But as a Master, he couldn't be neutral. So as much as I didn't like it, there was no clear path to the truth right now.
I nibbled on that conclusion for a while, working it over and over in my mind. I lost myself in my thoughts and the drive.
It wasn't that vampires were antithetical to mansions. The vampire design aesthetic was far from chains, skull candles, and black lace, and it wasn't as if Cadogan House was a hovel. It had been elegant before the attack, and it was becoming elegant again.
But Navarre House set a new standard for vampire opulence. First, it was tucked into the Gold Coast neighborhood, one of Chicago's ritziest areas, full of Gilded Era mansions and celebrity retreats. Second, the interior was awe inspiring. Giant spaces, weird art, and the kind of furniture you saw in design magazines. (The kind of furniture you thought was neat in a museum kind of way, but wouldn't actually want to sit on when watching a game on the flat screen on a Saturday afternoon.)
Did I mention Navarre had a reception desk?
Having parked the Volvo and freshened up as much as possible in the rearview mirror, I went inside and prepared to face the three dark-haired women who controlled access to Navarre and its Master.
Ethan and I had dubbed them the three Fates, a la Greek myth, because they exercised a similar amount of power. They looked petite, but I had the sense that one false move - or one unauthorized step past the reception desk - and you'd be in trouble.
Today they mostly seemed overwhelmed. The House's lobby was swamped with people. None fit into obvious categories - no reporters, no vampires, no one who seemed like a member of McKetrick's crew doing a little in-House surveying. Most wore standard black suits, more of the accountant variety than the Cadogan House variety, and they carried notepads or nondescript black bags.
