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Luc glanced at Ethan. “You’re going with her?”
“I am,” Ethan said, his tone a challenge. “I certainly wouldn’t have her go alone.”
“I didn’t suggest you have her go alone,” Luc said, bristling at the insult.
“Jonah’s going, too,” I said. “He’ll give us another pair of eyes, another sword in case anything goes wonky. Which I wouldn’t expect it to, considering the fact that we’re visiting someone else’s crime scene and a cadre of CPD uniforms and detectives.”
Luc grunted, which I took for agreement. Having advised him of our next steps, we were technically ready to leave, but I wasn’t leaving the House with the two of them in a snit.
I walked to the Ops Room door, gestured to the hallway. “Luc, Ethan, could I please speak to you for a moment? Perhaps in the training room?”
They both looked suspicious, but I ignored the questions in their eyes and kept my own expression neutral. Ethan moved first, and when Luc saw that he’d relented, he kicked his boots off the table and rose.
I stood in the doorway until I was assured they’d moved, then walked past them to the training room, where I pointed inside.
“In. Both of you.”
They gave me equally dubious looks.
“You’re giving us orders?” Ethan asked.
I gave back the haughtiest expression I could manage, which was equal parts Ethan Sullivan (my Master) and Joshua Merit (my father).
“I am,” I confirmed. “It’s been a dramatic night, and we’re about to head into a pretty crappy situation. We don’t have time for attitude.” Both of them opened their mouths to protest, but I held up a hand to stop them.
“You’re colleagues and friends, and you both feel crappy that something dangerous happened tonight which made you question your control, your respective abilities to protect the ones you love.”
I looked at them for a moment, waiting for them to argue. To my great satisfaction, both of them shut their mouths tight. I gestured them forward into the training room. “Talk it out, punch it out, kick it out, whatever it takes. Just get it out there, and let’s move on. You have five minutes.”
I waited until they walked inside, grumbling the entire time, and closed the door behind them.
I found Lindsey in the Ops Room doorway, arms crossed and grinning. “Boy trouble?”
“When aren’t they trouble? While they battle it out in there, I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I need to borrow your car.”
* * *
When they emerged three minutes later, I had Lindsey’s keys in hand. Her dark SUV was considerably less conspicuous than Moneypenny, which would, I hoped, make the trip safer.
My excellent plan notwithstanding, both Luc and Ethan wore dirty looks.
“Love you guys!” I said with sickly sweetness. “You get everything worked out?”
“We’ve decided you’re the biggest pain in our ass,” Luc said.
“Oh, good!” I glanced at Ethan. “Now, if you’re done fighting and making up, can we please get to work?”
Ethan glanced at Luc, shared a long-suffering look. Which was fine by me, as long as they weren’t sniping at each other. The world outside the doors of Cadogan House was chaos enough; we didn’t need chaos inside.
“Phones on, and stay alert,” Luc said. “And tell Jonah we said hello.”
“Lucas,” Ethan politely said, “kiss my ass.”
And they were back.
* * *
We drove Lindsey’s SUV to north Michigan Avenue—Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. Parking, as usual, was ridiculously limited, but we found a spot a few blocks west of Michigan and hiked back to the church.
I was no country mouse, and I normally thrived on the energy of downtown Chicago. But this time my senses were on high alert: Every shadow got a second glance, every bystander a double look. Ethan was under my protection, and I wasn’t about to lose him on my watch.
Jonah stood on the corner of Michigan and Chestnut, his auburn hair blowing in the light breeze. With his tall, rangy build and chiseled features, he was movie-star handsome. Considering his great personality and sense of humor, he had no business being single. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much luck in the dating arena.
“Merit, Ethan,” he said with a nod.
“Jonah,” Ethan said. His tone was unerringly polite, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent certain of the handsome guard captain—particularly since Jonah and I, as RG partners, were tied together in a way that Ethan and I weren’t. And Ethan was alpha enough to find those ties a little too binding.
“You haven’t seen anything yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. I waited for you since you sent the invite. Too many vampires spoil a party.” He gestured to the church, which was surrounded by official vehicles and ambulances. “Lot of cops around. I think the chance of a replay of the Cadogan Dash drama is slim. You drive Moneypenny?”
“Lindsey’s SUV,” I said.
“Good. Decreases the odds he’d follow you here—assuming he was looking.”
“No evidence of that so far,” I said as we walked together up Michigan. “But we’re still looking.”
“Show like that, you expect a second round.”
“We’re expecting it,” Ethan agreed. “We’ll be prepared.”
I hoped he was right but didn’t discount the risk. The cost was simply too great.
The Fourth Presbyterian Church property was nestled between shops and high-rises in Chicago’s bustling tourist sector. There was a sanctuary and separate parish buildings, and the space between them created a courtyard separated from Michigan Avenue by an arched, covered walkway.
Tonight, that courtyard was bounded by yellow police tape, that immediate indicator that something bad had gone down. Gawkers were gathered along the tape, cell phones extended to photograph the scene.
My grandfather moved toward us in brown shoes with thick soles, a plaid shirt tucked into brown slacks. There wasn’t much hair left on his head, and his face was comfortably lived-in. I loved him ridiculously.
He walked with a cane these days, his body still healing from an unfortunate run-in with the man who’d formerly held his position. But he moved quickly and, although his expression was dour, offered me a hug.
I tried to thread the needle between showing affection for my grandfather (with an affectionate hug) and keeping him safe (with an affectionate hug that didn’t rebreak his ribs, which were only just healing). He didn’t grunt in pain, so I considered that a victory. He smelled like the mentholated rubs he preferred for sore muscles, a scent I’d forever associate with weekend sleepovers at my grandparents’ house.
