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“Good. Because that dress was sick. I hate her.”
“Because of fashion or mortal enemy?” I wondered.
“Yes,” was Lindsey’s answer. “Because of that.”
“She’s bluffing,” Catcher said, his voice low and dangerous, like fury only barely bridled. “She doesn’t have that kind of power—not to destroy the city.” But he didn’t sound entirely certain.
“She only needs our fear,” Mallory said. “And she has plenty of that to do this. Enough to extort the mayor and everyone else. At least she’s not passive-aggressive.”
“She’s aggressive-aggressive,” Catcher said. “And I want a chance at her this time.”
“She didn’t ask for you,” Mallory said. “She asked for us.”
“She won’t get you,” Ethan said. I looked at him, found his gaze on me, eyes full of flashing heat. “Under no circumstances will you be handed over to Sorcha Reed.”
“Seconded,” Catcher said, a deep timbre to his voice, as if he’d imbued the word itself with magic.
Like me, Mallory looked ready to argue. Not that I wanted to hand myself over to Sorcha—I’d seen what she could do. But nor did I want to sacrifice Chicago—and every person in it—to her sociopathy. There had to be a middle ground between giving in and giving up.
And both of us were smart enough to pick our battles. Mallory and I exchanged a look and the smallest of nods. We’d do what we had to do, to protect our city, our people, and our men.
“We took her out once,” she said, with a long look at her husband. “And she’d have stayed that way if the CPD hadn’t lost her. We’ll take her out again.”
The phones started ringing, the modern-day warning siren, and we pulled them out. “Jonah,” I said, reading mine. “Letting us know Gray House has our back.”
“Your grandfather,” Catcher said. “He and Jeff are on their way; the mayor wants a strategy meeting in two hours.” He looked up. “We won’t be able to avoid it.”
“And the Tribune asking for a quote.” Ethan growled the words, then tossed his phone into an empty chair, where he apparently planned to ignore it.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to them,” Luc said.
The fury in Ethan’s face made him seem as much wolf as vampire. “She has asked for my wife’s life in exchange for this city. They have no right to justify that demand with questions about whether I’ll accede to it. Whether I’ll turn Merit over to satisfy the whims of a woman who is certifiable.”
Ethan, I silently said, and put a hand on his arm. This won’t help. And he isn’t our enemy.
The room was heavy and silent for a moment, the tension as thick as fog, and then he nodded and took a step back.
“You should tell them what you think,” Luc said, and held up his hands before Ethan could argue. “I know you don’t like press conferences. But we should consider getting our side of the story out there.”
“In less than ten hours, I turn over my wife, or Sorcha destroys the city. Getting my story out there isn’t a high priority.”
“You are a stubborn man.”
“I am,” Ethan said. “And I’ll be damned if my city is brought down by the Wicked Witch of the Midwest.”
Cut and print.
• • •
We took time to get organized, get food, and for Mallory and Catcher to get showered. We gathered again in Ethan’s office, where the screen now displayed the dossier Luc had put together about Sorcha Reed.
“If we want to beat the Wicked Witch,” Luc said, “we have to predict her magic. And if we want to predict her magic, we have to know how she ticks.”
“Wicked Bitch, more like,” Lindsey muttered.
“No objection there,” Ethan said.
Luc nodded. “First, Mallory and Catcher have an update.”
