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With a brisk mental nod, she squared her shoulders and slammed a mental door on her intruding memories.
She could do that, she told herself. She could close it off. Block away the hours in Luke’s arms. The way they’d laughed together. All of it.
She could do it, she knew, because in the end, this was the job she lived for. And with that thought, she snapped the folder shut, then went to stand by Leviathan as they waited for the guards to unlock the cellblock door.
A moment later, the red light above the door flashed green, then slid quietly to one side. Sara followed Leviathan into a hall lined with glass-enclosed cells, her head held high as they passed the other prisoners, her heels clicking firmly on the cement floor.
His was the last cell, and he looked up as they approached. She saw it immediately, that spark of recognition. That quick shadow in his eyes that suggested his world was tilting along with hers.
She, at least, wasn’t locked up.
The guard—an ogre, Leviathan had told her—unlocked the cell at Leviathan’s nod, and she followed him in. And despite knowing what he had done—despite her mind constantly flipping from Braddock’s ripped-out throat to her own father’s—she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that this man was in this cell on charges of murder.
Not that Luke had the appearance of a prisoner. True, he wore a faded gray T-shirt with “Detention C” stamped across the chest in black letters, but there was nothing about him that seemed bound. On the contrary, walking into that room felt much the same as walking into a conference room, with Luke at the head of the table, slowly surveying those summoned to do his bidding.
Beside her, Leviathan’s gaze shifted between the two of them, his eyes dull and unreadable. Then he pressed a hand to her back, easing her forward to one of the two chairs on the opposite side of Luke. If her boss knew that anything other than that a murder investigation was taking place in that room, he didn’t show it.
Sara was determined not to show it, either.
She pulled out the chair and sat, then took a yellow pad from her briefcase and placed it on her lap. The investigator’s report was tucked underneath, just enough of the page revealed under the pad to signal to Luke that she’d read the report and she knew what he’d done. She kept her pen in her hand, idly twirling it in her fingers as she watched Luke’s face. Other than that first flicker of recognition, however, he revealed nothing.
“Lucius Dragos,” Leviathan said, taking the chair beside Sara. “It’s not often I have the chance to sit across from a man with such a notorious reputation.”
“Notorious?” Luke repeated, his mouth curving down into a frown. “I didn’t know you listened to gossip, Nikko.”
The easy use of Leviathan’s first name surprised Sara, and she glanced at her new boss, anticipating his reaction. None, however, was forthcoming. Instead, he merely flipped through the papers in his hand. “Belfast, last month,” Leviathan said. “A werewolf dead in Glencairn Park. Nasty business.”
“Wasn’t it, though?” Luke leaned back in his chair, utterly calm in the face of Leviathan’s accusation. “Turns out Division 3 suspected that same werewolf in the killing of a human politician not three days after being released from PEC custody.” He shook his head. “I had a pint with the lead investigator. Not only was I not charged, but the bloke picked up the tab for my Guinness.”
“And Talijax Feaureaux? Dallas, Texas.”
“Apparently I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The charges against me were dismissed.”
“And Milton Craymore?” Leviathan pressed, as Sara sat more stiffly in her chair. This intel was new to her, and the accusations seemed to fly at her like blows.
“I believe Milton was responsible for planning that deadly werewolf raid on the Oslo vampire community center.” A slow smile crossed his face as he looked straight at Leviathan, never flinching. “I can’t say I mourn the death of one such as him, but I don’t know who to congratulate for ridding us of that swine.”
It didn’t matter what he said. She knew, and Leviathan knew. It was in his eyes. He’d killed. He’d gotten away with it. And he was proud of what he’d done. Proud of the blows he’d struck. She’d bet her new job that no one had gone to trial for any of those crimes. They’d had the right defendant; they just hadn’t found the evidence to prove it.
Beside her, Leviathan pushed back his chair. Sara took a deep breath and made sure she had her game face on before looking over at her boss. He was standing, forcing Luke to tilt his head back to look at him. It was, Sara knew, a simple trick that had the effect of creating at least an illusion of power. In this case, however, the maneuver didn’t work.
Despite Leviathan’s cool confidence, Lucius Dragos lost none of his cool. Instead, he rocked back slightly so that his chair balanced on the two rear legs. He shook his head, ruffling the perfect mane of silky black hair. He could not, Sara realized, run his fingers through his hair, as both hands were currently manacled to the arms of the chair, apparently brought in for this interview. Yet despite that disadvantage and despite the fact that Leviathan now towered above him, Luke was in no way diminished. If anything, the two men now seemed equally pitted against each other.
It was, Sara thought, fascinating.
Leviathan moved closer, getting into Luke’s space. Getting into his face. This time, when Leviathan spoke, his words were low and controlled without the earlier suggestion of civility. “Let us understand each other, Dragos. You are here because we brought you in. We trapped you. We caught you. We shackled you. And once we dispense with the formality of a trial, we will execute you.”
Luke’s eyes flicked up, the heat in them banked by a tight control. “You don’t win the game until the executioner’s stake slams through my heart. Until then, I think the wise money is on me.”
The scent of cinnamon filled the air. “Do not for a moment think that this is a game, Dragos.”
“I don’t play games. I would have thought you knew that much about me.” He turned his attention to Sara, and she forced herself to remain steady, to keep her expression bland as those deadly eyes looked into hers. “Perhaps you speak for your companion’s benefit?” His eyes lingered on her, and for a moment, one fleeting, dancing moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of regret in his face. Then it cleared, and all she saw was ice. “I doubt she is as familiar with my file as you are, Nikko.”
Leviathan nodded toward her, his expression filled with something akin to fatherly pride. “I would suggest, Lucius, that you work hard not to antagonize Ms. Constantine. She may not yet know all there is to know about you, but I assure you that she is a quick study. She’ll learn, Luke,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “She’ll learn all about you.”
“I look forward to being thoroughly examined,” Luke said. He turned toward her, the heat from his gaze curling through her.
She tamped it down, angry at herself for letting that heat warm her for even a millisecond.
