Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [80]
I closed my eyes just for a moment—just for a moment to breathe—and then opened them again at the sound of squealing tires.
I looked back. The two goons had disappeared, and the black SUV was peeling down the street.
“So much for loyalty,” I muttered, then looked down at McKetrick and around the neighborhood. The bus stop was a few yards away, but the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. I didn’t have much time, so I was going to need backup.
Lightning still flashing around us, I dragged McKetrick into the bus stop and propped him up against the bench. I pulled out my phone.
Catcher answered with a question. “What do you want, Merit?”
That entire house was testy this week, and I was beginning to reach the end of my patience with the Bell/Carmichael clan. Still, I had work to do.
I gave him my address. “If you can get here fast enough, you’ll find McKetrick in the bus stop, out cold.”
“McKetrick?” he asked, his voice suddenly suffused with a lot less snark. “What happened?”
“He and two of his goons surprised me in the Loop. Same song and dance about hating vampires and wanting them out of Chicago. But with a really bad twist. He has, or at least claims to have, aspen bullets. I managed to grab one of his guns, but not his goons, who took off. He also mentioned he has some kind of facility. I’m hoping he’ll give you some details.”
“That would be helpful. You interested in pressing charges against him for assault and battery?”
“Only if it’s necessary to keep him locked up.”
“Shouldn’t be,” Catcher said. “If you’ll recall, we’re no longer affiliated with the city. This is just a couple of guys having a friendly conversation off the record. Funny how the Constitution is no longer an issue.”
Maybe not, but that didn’t mean my grandfather couldn’t still end up in hot water for kidnapping. “That’s your call. But I don’t know how long he’s going to be out, and since the city’s going to start stirring pretty soon, you might want to give Detective Jacobs a heads-up. You don’t want a random CPD uniform finding him before you get here.”
Jacobs knew my grandfather, and had interrogated me after a dose of V, the drug Tate manufactured for vampires, had turned the Cadogan House bar into a deadly mosh pit. Jacobs was cautious and detail oriented, and he was honestly on the side of truth and justice. There weren’t a lot of people like that around anymore, so I’ll deemed him an ally.
“I’ll float the idea to Chuck, see which direction he wants to take. I know he wants to stay on the good side of the CPD, but there’s something to be said for testing this newfound freedom the mayor has given us.”
I heard the sounds of shuffling. “We’re leaving now,” he added. “Should be there in twenty.”
“It’s nearly dawn, so I’m heading back to the House. And speaking of your newfound freedom, any luck arranging a second meeting with Tate?”
“I’m working on it. I’m cashing in the political capital we’ve got, but the bureaucrats are greedy. Kowalczyk’s made them nervous. I’ll let you know tomorrow night.”
“I would appreciate it. Hey—while I’ve got you on the phone, have you ever smelled anything weird around Tate?”
“I make it a habit not to smell politicians or convicts.”
“I’m serious. Whenever I’m around him, I smell lemon and sugar. And a little while ago, after the downpour, I smelled it again—like there was some sort of similar magic flowing from the rain. Like he’d been involved in it somehow.”
“We got a little rain out here, but I didn’t smell anything. I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in smells. Besides, Tate’s locked up. What could he do?”
So he said. I knew there was something in it, but I let it go. “Take care. Be gentle with our soldier.”
“Not that he deserves it,” Catcher said, and he hung up the call.
The edge of the sky now searing yellow, I put the phone away again and left McKetrick in his bus stop, looking like a partygoer who’d had a little too much fun.
Lucky him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BEST PART OF WAKING