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“You need to do more research,” I suggested.
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“Right under send Harold to Secret, right?”
“Okay fine. I’ll send Emilio out there with Harold, with the caveat that you’re back here within seventy-two hours.”
“I’m not sure I can promise that.”
“You’re going to have to. I’m giving you three more days, and not an hour more. I’m not kidding when I say we have our hands full here, and there aren’t a lot of other options. Don’t let this go to your head, but I need you.”
I schooled myself, not wanting my genuine pleasure to come through too obviously. “Aw shucks, Novak.”
Novak was a name from Tyler’s detective days, given to him by a bunch of cops who couldn’t quite wrap their tongues around Nowakowski. It had stayed with him even in his permanent move to the FBI. Mostly because I kept using it.
“Suck up to me later.”
“I’ll make a note.”
He ignored me and said, “I’ll get them out as soon as I can, but can you try to keep out of trouble in the meantime?”
“I can try.”
“Why do I even bother asking?”
I grinned, then had to remember to sober my features when I walked back into the apartment. The phone call had been a nice reprieve from what was happening here, but now that I was faced with the Jackson Pollack of crime scenes, my tummy did another unpleasant flip-flop.
If Davos had done something to Ingrid, it certainly explained Sig’s sudden about-face. He would do anything to keep her safe. Hell, I had known Desmond less than a decade, and I would lay down in traffic for him. Sig had been with Ingrid for seven hundred years. It didn’t matter that they weren’t a couple. Any relationship forged over such a long period of time was beyond the scope of imagining. She knew him better than anyone would ever know him, and vice versa.
That was love no one in the human world could understand.
And Davos had used it against Sig.
It was despicable and brilliant. No one else was stupid enough to go quite so far, and Davos was going to end up dying for it, but he was scheduled to die anyway, so this had given him the extra time he needed.
And now I knew what he needed that time for.
He was preparing to open up another gate to Hell, because he didn’t know the West Coast already had, and if he was anything like the other zealots I had met in my life, he didn’t care if he died, as long as he stayed alive long enough to get the job done.
That was some messed-up dedication. I’d salute the guy for it, but I wanted to cut off his head instead.
Knowing his motivation and what he’d done to turn Sig, I had to figure out what had happened with Ingrid.
I was betting he was counting on seven-hundred-year-old human servant blood to pack one hell of a punch when it came to a demonic sacrifice.
Provided she had any blood left.
“Special Director McQueen?” One of the detectives, a guy named Hughes, I think, was lingering nearby, obviously trying to given me space but running out of patience.
“Yes?”
“Can you explain for me what it was Ms. Müller did for a living?”
“It wasn’t a job, the way you think of it. She was the daytime servant for one of the most powerful vampires in the country.”
“What does that entail?” He didn’t sneer or make any glib remarks about the servant part, which I gave him credit for. Some folks were quick to judge and misunderstand how this society worked.
“She took care of his business during the daylight hours. Sort of like a personal assistant. As a result of her work with him, they formed a bond that allowed her to remain mortal but live alongside him.” I explained her age and what type of work she did for Sig. I also told him this was likely the work of a vampire who had been taken into custody by another detective the previous night.
