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"I'm in," Roff said, retracting his tool. "Finally! Come have a look."
As the whine slowed into silence and the male took a breather, she went over and opened the panel. Inside was dark as midnight.
"Remember," Roff said as he began to pack up, "we had to cut the electricity and the circuit that tied it to the security system. There's usually a light that comes on."
"Right." She peered in anyway. It was just like a cave. "Thank you so much."
"If you'd like me to find you a replacement, I can?"
Her father had always had safes, some of them in walls, a couple down in the cellar that had been as big and heavy as cars. "I guess...we'll need one."
Roff glanced around at the study and then smiled at her. "Yes, madam. I think you will. I'll take care of you, though. Make sure you get what you need."
She turned and put her hand out. "You have been very kind."
He flushed from the collar of his coveralls up to his dark hairline. "Madam...you have been very nice to work for."
Ehlena saw him to the grand front door and then went back to the study with a flashlight she'd gotten from the butler.
Clicking the beam on, she peered into the safe. Files. Loads of files. Some flat leather cases she recognized from when her mother's jewels had still been around. More documents. Stock certificates. Bundles of cash. Two accounting ledgers.
Moving a side table over, she emptied everything out, making piles. When she got to the very back, she found a lockbox that she had to grunt in order to lift.
It took her about three hours to go through the paperwork, and when she was done, she was absolutely stunned.
Montrag and his father had been the corporate equivalent of mobsters.
Rising from the chair she'd tucked her butt into, she went up to the bedroom she used and pulled open the drawer of the antique bureau she'd put her clothes in. Her father's manuscript was held with a simple rubber band, which she snapped free with a flick of the hand. Leafing through the pages...she found the description of the business deal that had changed everything for her family.
Ehlena took the manuscript page downstairs to the documents and ledgers from the safe. Going through the set of books that recorded hundreds of transactions for business interests, real estate, and other investments, she found one that matched the date, dollar amounts, and subject matter that had been listed by her father.
It was there. Montrag's father had been the one who'd double-crossed hers, and the son had been in on it.
Letting herself fall back in the chair, she took a long hard look at the study.
Karma was indeed a bitch, wasn't it.
Ehlena went back to the ledgers to see if there were any other people in the glymera who had been taken advantage of. There hadn't been, not since Montrag and his father had ruined her family, and she had to wonder if they'd moved toward human dealings to decrease the likelihood of being discovered as crooks and swindlers within the race.
She glanced down at the lockbox.
As this was clearly the night for airing dirty laundry, she picked the thing up. It wasn't secured by a combination lock, but a key one.
Looking over her shoulder, she stared at the desk.
Five minutes later, after having successfully pried open the secret compartment in the lower drawer, she took the key she'd found the night before back to the lockbox. She had no doubt it was going to open the thing.
And it did.
Reaching inside, she found only one document, and as she unfurled the thick, creamy pages, she had exactly the same sense she'd had when she'd first talked to Rehvenge on the phone and he'd asked her, Ehlena, are you there?
This was going to change everything, she thought for no good reason.
And it did.
It was an affidavit by Rehvenge's father fingering his killer, written while the male was dying of mortal wounds.
She read it twice. And a third time.
The witness was Rehm, father of Montrag.
Her mind flipped into processing mode, and she raced for her laptop, getting the Dell out and calling up the clinical search she'd done on Rehv's mother... Well, what do you know, the date the affidavit had been dictated by the dying male was the same as the last night Rehv's mother had been brought into the clinic beaten up.
She took the affidavit and reread it. Rehvenge was a symphath and a killer, according to what his stepfather had said. And Rehm had known it. And Montrag had known it.
Her eyes went to the ledgers. Given what was in those records, father and son had been total opportunists. It was hard to believe that that kind of information wouldn't have been used at one time or another. Very hard.
"Madam? I've brought you tea?"
Ehlena looked up at the doggen in the doorway. "I need to know something."
"Of course, madam." The maid came over with a smile. "What may I answer for you?"
"How did Montrag die?"
There was a sharp rattle as the maid all but dropped the tray on the table in front of the couch. "Madam...surely you do not wish to speak of such a thing."
"How."
The doggen looked at all the papers that had been scattered around the disemboweled safe. Going by the resignation in the female's eyes, Sashla knew that secrets had been revealed, secrets that didn't reflect well on her previous master.
Diplomacy and deference quieted the maid's voice. "I would not wish to speak ill of the dead, nor to pay disrespect to the Sire Montrag. But you are the head of household, and as you have requested..."
"It's okay. You're doing nothing wrong. And I need to know. If it helps, think of it as a direct order."
This seemed to relieve the female, and she nodded, then spoke in a halting tone. When she fell silent, Ehlena glanced down at the glossy floor.
At least she knew why the rug was missing now.
Xhex was on the graveyard shift at the Iron Mask, just as she'd been at ZeroSum. Which meant as her wristwatch flashed three forty-five, it was time to do sweeps of the bathrooms while the bartenders were doing last call and her bouncers were hauling the drunk and drugged-up out into the street.
On its surface, the Mask was nothing like ZeroSum. Instead of steel and glass, it was all about the neo-Victorian, with everything black and deep blue. There were a lot of velvet drapes and private, deep couch booths, and f**k the technopop shit; the music was acoustic suicide, as depressive as anything that ever carried a backbeat. No dance floor. No VIP section. More places for sex. Fewer drugs.
But the escapist vibe was the same, and the girls were still working, and the liquor was still going fast as a mudslide.
Trez ran the place in a very low-key kind of way-gone were the days of a hidden back office and the pimptastic presence of a flashy owner. He was a manager, not a drug lord, and the policies and procedures over here didn't involve any knuckle-busting or pistol-whipping. Bottom line, there was a lot less to police because of the lack of wholesale and retail drug business-plus Goths were moodier and more introspective by nature, as opposed to the hyped-up, sparkly jackass set that had regulared ZeroSum.
Xhex missed the chaos, though. Missed...a lot of things.
With a curse, she hit the main ladies' bathroom, which was by the bigger of the two bars, and found a woman leaning into the darkened mirror over the sink. With an intent look, she was sweeping her fingertips under her eyes, not to clean up her eyeliner but to drag it down farther onto her paper white skin. God knew she had plenty of the Cover Girl smudgible to go around; she was wearing so much of the shit, she looked like someone had punched her twice with an and-iron.
"We're closing," Xhex said.
"Okay, no problem. See you tomorrow." The girl pulled back from her Night of the Living Dead reflection and hustled out the door.
That was the f**ked-up thing about the Goths. Yeah, they looked like freaks, but they were actually a lot cooler than the frustrated-frat-boy, wannabe-Paris Hilton types. Plus they had much better tats.
Yup, the Mask was a lot less complicated...which meant Xhex had more than enough time to indulge in her deepening relationship with Detective de la Cruz. She 'd been down to the Caldwell police station twice already for interrogation, as had many of her bouncers-including Big Rob and Silent Tom, the two she'd sent to find Grady for her.
Naturally, both of them had lied beautifully under oath, saying they had been working with her at the time of Grady's death.
It was clear at this point that she was going to get grand juried, but the charges weren't going to stick. Undoubtedly the CSIers had gotten busy pulling fibers and hair from Grady, but they weren't going to get much on her that route as vampire DNA, like blood, disintegrated quickly. Plus she'd already burned her clothes and boots from that night, and the knife she'd used was widely available at hunting stores.
