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"I'm not sure he did it," I finally said. "I'm not sure he's innocent, either, but I think if he knew who Oliver and Eve were, he would have gloated. At the very least, he would have hinted about it."
Jeff leaned against the Volvo. "And he didn't gloat?"
"Not really. He gloated about his position, but the aspen gun thing - he seemed completely surprised by that."
"Maybe somebody stole a weapon from him," Jeff said. "He's got a facility, right? And henchmen?"
"Yeah," I said. We weren't sure where the facility was, only that he had one. We'd seen his henchmen in action plenty of times. They preferred the black fatigues he'd worn before he'd taken office.
How had those become the good ol' days?
I looked at Jeff. "Is that our theory? Someone stole an aspen gun from McKetrick's facility and decided to take out two vampires?"
Jeff crossed his arms. "It's not a bad theory. Maybe one of McKetrick's flunkies found out he was going to take the city job, figured his boss was a sellout, and took action on his own."
I nodded. "That's a possibility. But it doesn't get us any closer to finding the killers. He'd never give up a colleague, even if they did steal a weapon. That would be like choosing vampires over humans."
"The ultimate betrayal," Jeff said, and I nodded.
"I should get back to the House. Thanks for meeting me out here." Before he could object, I wrapped him in a hug. Jeff was thin and tall - taller than me - but surprisingly solid beneath that lanky frame.
"Uh, you're welcome," he said, awkwardly patting my back before I released him again. His cheeks were crimson. "I've got a girlfriend."
"Of course," I gravely said. "Anyway, thank you."
"Later," he said, and climbed into his car for the drive back to my grandfather's house. I was headed in the same general direction, and there seemed little doubt we'd both find drama when we reached our destinations.
* * *
I didn't, however, expect to find the House completely silent.
The foyer was empty, as was Ethan's office.
I heard a sudden crack of sound in the foyer, followed by the sound of feminine cursing. Fearing the worst - riot, attack, supernatural temper tantrum - I hurried back to the spot.
I found Helen there, kneeling in the foyer, picking up a spoiled bouquet of flowers from the floor. A large, clear vase - apparently plastic, since it hadn't shattered - lay beside her. She wore a well-tailored tweed skirt and jacket and sensible heels, and she knelt like Coco Chanel might have - with feminine care and careful style.
"I'll help," I said, bending down to help gather up the stems. They were white roses just past full bloom, their flowers limp and beginning to brown, the stems emitting the faint aroma of decay.
"Thank you," she said, gathering an armful of flowers and rising to her feet again. "I was just replacing the arrangement on the foyer table. I caught a thorn and it startled me. Such a small thing," she added, "but there you go."
Not so small that it hadn't drawn blood; the pungent aroma of the drops she'd spilled was a low note beneath her perfume and the smell of the flowers.
"No problem." I put the vase on the table again, picked up the remaining bunch of roses, and followed her into the kitchen, where we dumped the mess into one of Margot's large trash cans. "Where is everyone?"
"They're in the training room. Ethan has decided to put our new security consultant to the test."
I was running down the stairs almost instantaneously.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CASE OF VAMPIRE VS. VAMPIRE
There were two parts to the training room at Cadogan House, which sat next door to the Ops Room: the tatami-covered floor where the participants fought, and the balcony that ringed it, a place for spectators to watch the proceedings below.
The fighters hadn't yet stepped into the ring, so I found a seat on the balcony beside Lindsey, Luc, and half the Ops Room temps.
"How did your meeting go?" Luc asked.
"McKetrick didn't try to kill me, but I'm not sure he's involved in the killings, either. He didn't much care they were dead, but he did seem surprised about the aspen gun."
Luc looked surprised. "He claims someone stole it from him?"
"He didn't say, but I'm wondering."
The balcony erupted into applause, and we peered over the railing as Ethan walked inside, wearing black martial arts pants and a top belted at the waist. He was shoeless, and his hair was pulled tight at the nape of his neck, all but a lock of golden blond that fell across his face.
A burst of pride filled my chest. The man was walking power and confidence, and he was all mine.
"Seriously," Lindsey whispered, "well done."
"I know, right?"
Ethan walked onto the mat and bounced on his toes, stretching his arms above him as he not-so-subtly scanned the balcony for me. He met my eyes, and I offered a supportive wink.
Go get him, tiger, I silently told him.
Shouldn't you be working? he asked.
Yes, I said frankly. But the world outside these walls is depressing, and I need the distraction. You may begin impressing me now.
He smiled wickedly, his expression public, but the reasons - and the conversation between us - for our ears only.
Michael stepped into the room to the good-natured clapping of the vampires in the balcony. He'd opted for white martial arts gear, the same styling as Ethan's. But the color contrast was notable. They were both tall and fit, but their coloring and mannerisms were noticeably different. Michael had dark hair and a casual, athletic bounce to his step. Ethan, golden haired and green eyed, made clear that every move was precise and calculated.
Michael pressed his hands together and bent forward at the edge of the mat, bowing toward Ethan. Ethan did the same, his expression unreadable, and they met in the middle.
The battle started almost instantaneously.
Michael jumped into a high spinning kick that sent Ethan to the floor, and he rolled away before Michael could attempt contact again.
"Not bad," Ethan said.
"I'm only worth your House's money if I can teach you a trick or two," Michael said, executing a side kick that Ethan neatly blocked, then moving forward with a jab-slash-punch combination. Ethan dodged him, flipping backward out of the way - and at least ten feet into the air - before Michael could hit him again.
"Clearly four hundred years of practice has its benefits," Michael said, grunting as he used his right forearm to block a crescent kick that Ethan landed perfectly, the sound of bone on bone ringing across the room.
